


The List

by TheBatchild



Series: Undisclosed [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fridays, Gen, Steve's list, Stinn - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-01-11 02:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18420795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBatchild/pseuds/TheBatchild
Summary: Every Friday over the summer after the Battle of New York, Agent Quinn Scott and Steve Rogers work through a little bit more of the list he's been given to catch up on everything he's missed. Unexpectedly, that's not all they end up having to work through.





	1. Chapter 1

_May 18th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD Headquarters, Agent Scott's office_

"Hey, Scottie. Feels like it's been forever since I saw you."

Quinn Scott gave a little start at Clint Barton's voice, but smiled when she looked up and saw her friend standing in the doorway of her office. She had to blink a few times to clear the fog from her eyes. "You saw me yesterday."

"I saw you two days ago, on Wednesday. It's Friday."

Quinn frowned and looked at the little calendar on her desk—a Word of the Day one she'd given to Coulson for Father's Day the year before, mostly as a joke. She'd thought about putting it away or giving it someone else, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Today's word was  _disquiet_ ; Coulson had always made a point of using the word of the day in conversation and Quinn had made a game of trying to determine the correct word _._ Clint was right though. It had been two days. "Shit," she breathed, dropping into her chair. The minute she stopped moving, a weariness settled in her bones, and all she wanted to do was close her eyes. Go to sleep.

Clint sat in one of the chairs opposite her. "You've been working too much."

"There's a lot to deal with. Stuff that Coulson didn't finish with…" She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat at the thought of the late Phil Coulson, her boss, friend, and surrogate father. It hadn't even been a month since he'd passed—it had only been two weeks, actually—but Quinn had taken over his job with as much energy as she could muster. He would have wanted it that way. She wanted to do a good job. She wanted to make him proud. And working was easier than sitting around. Less time for her to miss him.

And less time to dwell on other problems as well, but Quinn wasn't thinking about that at all.

"Steve mentioned you hadn't been home in a couple days. Nat said you were still here."

 _So much for not thinking about Steve._ "I just want to get this stuff handled as soon as possible, to try and start on a clean slate. I have to go over the security procedures for Laura and the kids and make sure the systems on the farm are all up to date, and I have to keeps tabs on Jane Foster—who, by the way, wants nothing to do with SHIELD, and I'm convinced she's doing whatever she can to make my life difficult." Quinn huffed and ran a hand back through her hair, realizing as she did that her normally immaculate braid was a mess. She must look a treat. "I also have to process all this paperwork," she said, slapping a hand on top of a large pile of files. "Coulson was great at a lot, but processing paperwork… not so much. And I don't have a me to help."

Clint rolled his eyes. "You could hire someone. And you need to sleep, but first, you need to come downstairs."

All thoughts of work and Steve vanished as the plan for Friday resurfaced in her brain. "Shit—right."

"Get your bag and come on. After this is done, I'm taking you home, and I don't want to see you here until Monday, and don't think you can sneak in here." He used two fingers to point at his eyes and then at her. "I'm watching you."

Smiling, Quinn logged out of her computer and grabbed her bag, tossing the few things she needed from her desk into it before following Clint out of the room. In the elevator, she pulled her braid out and swept her mass of dark brown hair into a ponytail, giving her appearance some semblance of order. There was nothing she could do about the wrinkled clothes she'd apparently been living in for days, but no one she was about to see would care. Clint looped one arm around her shoulders when she was done and gave her a brotherly squeeze. Quinn leaned into him and closed her eyes.

In the lobby of SHIELD's New York headquarters, they found Director Fury, Natasha Romanoff, and Maria Hill waiting for them, all in their various uniforms. They were arrayed in a semi-circle in front of the Wall of Valour: a display of the names of the SHIELD operatives who had fallen in battle. Quinn stuffed down a wave of grief as her eyes found the empty space where Coulson's nameplate would go.

Fury handed her a shield-shaped metal plate as she approached. "You should be the one to put it in place, Agent Scott," he said quietly.

He pressed it into her hand, and Quinn looked up to meet his one-eyed gaze. There was sympathy and pain there, and Quinn was struck once again by how little emotion the director usually showed. "Thank you," she whispered. She wrapped her fingers around the cold metal and stepped up to the Wall. All she could do for a few minutes was stare at the blank space; her body didn't want to obey.

Natasha stepped up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. She didn't say anything, just stood there.

On Quinn's other side, Maria appeared, her arms crossed loosely on her stomach. "He was a great man," she said. "And he cared, so much."

"He did," Quinn agreed, her voice cracking.

Then Clint was there, a warm presence behind Quinn, and he squeezed her other shoulder. "He put one hundred percent into everything he did, including raising you into the fine agent you are, Scottie."

She chuckled, a couple tears rolling down her cheek as she squeezed the metal shield tightly. "It still doesn't feel real, you know? He should be here." Quinn shook off the hands of support and closed the final bit of distance between her and the Wall. She lifted the shield and held it in place with one hand, accepting the small screwdriver someone—she didn't see who—handed to her. Slowly, carefully, she screwed it in place. "Thank you, Boss," she whispered. "For everything."

Quinn kissed the tips of her fingers and touched the metal gently. She could hear his voice in her head:  _You're welcome, kid._

The others said their goodbyes in turn, Director Fury standing silent for a few minutes after everyone else had gone, and then Clint led Quinn into the parking lot to take her home. He didn't say a word when she cried the whole way, or when she stopped in the hall outside her apartment and stared at the door facing hers. He didn't say anything when she opened the door and dropped her bag on the floor in the middle of the hall. In fact, the only thing he said was goodnight, as he hugged her right before he left.

Quinn stood in her open doorway, thinking about how everyone was displaying and handling their grief differently, about how it had been a long time since she'd seen Clint so reserved and quiet. Her eyes darted back to the closed door across the hall.

Then she shut her door, locked it, and went to bed.

* * *

 _May 25th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD Headquarters, Agent Scott's office_

"Nat, if you need a different gun, just take the other gun. Take both guns. Take  _all_ the guns. I don't care. I'll do the fucking paperwork afterwards. You know what you need to complete the mission and no one is going to question Strike Team fucking Delta—"

" _Quinn."_

Quinn heard her teeth click as her jaw snapped shut. The edges of her vision were red, and there was a hot ball of anger twisting in her stomach. Everything was rubbing her the wrong way lately and it was hard for her not to scream. She might technically be the head of Strike Team Delta, but since Coulson had passed, the remaining trio functioned more as a democracy than a leader and her team. She didn't feel as if she had the same authority as Coulson had had, so she didn't pretend to. Her, Clint, and Natasha discussed everything and decided courses of action together; Quinn had been promoted to Level 8 clearance, so the only things she didn't share were the ones she couldn't. It was a fine arrangement except when Quinn felt angry enough to explode—but she was friends with Natasha and Clint and screaming would accomplish nothing.

"Natasha," she snapped. Even to her, the reply sounded like it was coming from a snotty teenager. She squeezed her eyes shut, already cursing herself for acting ridiculous; she could hear it, but couldn't stop.

" _There is no reason for you to take your shitty mood out on me, Scottie. Just because you're being stubborn—"_

"Excuse me?"

She could almost hear Natasha roll her eyes.  _"You know exactly what I'm talking about, so we're not going to go over this again. Thanks for doing the paperwork, Scottie. We'll check in once we're on the ground, and then when we're done. The usual drill. Should be no later than tomorrow evening."_

Quinn sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she slumped deeper into her chair. She took another deep breath to centre herself and then said, "Okay."

Natasha sighed as well, and Quinn heard her moving something around; probably loading up the quinjet. She could also hear Clint in the background, chatting with someone, though she couldn't make out the individual words. There was a dull thud—Natasha sitting down.

" _You should just go talk to him. Or go to the gym with him again or something. He goes almost every day."_

Quinn narrowed her eyes. Natasha might not want to go over a conversation they'd already had, but that apparently wasn't going to stop her from rehashing her point. "That would be a bad idea."

" _Why? Because you were his handler? Because he's Captain America? Because you've only known him what? A month?"_

"All of the above," Quinn huffed. She shook her head and forced herself to focus. "I'm sorry for the bad mood, Nat, but this isn't any of your business, and I will be fine. I just have to adjust to the new job and everything. I told Steve I would put him in touch with Peggy—I still have to do that—and I said I would try and find him a place at SHIELD. But that's it."

" _You're being very stupid about the whole thing, Quinn, and that's not like you."_

"Just call me with updates on the mission. Fury wants any rogue alien tech rounded up as soon as possible."

Natasha sighed again, but said,  _"Will do,"_ and Quinn knew the conversation was over. Natasha ended the call a second later.

Quinn returned the phone to its cradle and then slumped back into her chair, draping her head over the back of it and staring up at the ceiling. Natasha was right—she wasn't acting like herself, but it was strangely hard to find her way back. Sure, part of it was the stress of a new job and grief over Coulson, but an increasingly large part had to do with her feelings for Steve. The abruptness and intensity of them had alarmed Quinn, but she'd chalked it up to the confusing swirl of emotion surrounding Steve being found, the Battle of New York, and Coulson's death, all of which had happened in quick succession. And Steve being nearby since he'd woken up. She'd expected her feelings to fade once she was back at work, but they hadn't. So she'd told herself she'd keep her distance from him.

Quinn was Steve's handler, and was now the liaison between SHIELD and the Avengers as well. He'd only been in the 21st century—hell, he'd only been unfrozen—for a month. His face was all over her collection of comics and cards and other Captain America memorabilia. It felt… wrong in some way for Quinn to pursue her feelings.

But that didn't make them go away.

She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to do exactly what Natasha had said: talk to Steve, see him, spend time with him doing…  _anything._  Her mind often raced back to the days they'd spent at The Retreat, watching movies, or sitting quietly while she worked and he drew or read. Quiet chats about old missions or details in a random SSR file. She thought about the little moments from the past month that lingered with her: Steve carrying her in the rain outside The Retreat, him holding the punching bag at the gym as she ran through drills, the smell of his leather jacket when he'd given her a ride home after the Battle of New York…

"Damn it."

Quinn rose from the chair and moved around her desk. She paced across the small space of her office for a moment or two, and then grabbed her bag and made sure she had everything she'd need; she wasn't going to get any more work done tonight, and she could just as easily wait for Natasha and Clint's call from home.

When she arrived back at her building—hurrying down the hall into her apartment and locking her door—Quinn didn't feel anymore relaxed than she had at work, but here she could at least pace in relative peace. And drink. She poured herself a scotch and headed for her bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind her as she moved. Once she was in leggings and an oversized long-sleeved shirt, and her brace back in place, Quinn ventured to her living room, dropped into her chair, and sat there, staring out the window, condensation from her drink soaking her hand.

She thought about going across the hall and knocking on Steve's door. It had been two weeks since she'd seen him, since they'd spoken.

She missed him.

But there was too much that could go wrong, too much that could fall apart, and Quinn was too scared of what could happen, of what might happen. She was afraid that the feeling of wrongness in her gut was more than just nerves and her brain trying to rationalize away her confusion. She was afraid that things wouldn't go wrong, that it would feel so good.

Quinn was just afraid and she didn't know what to do.

And she hated it.

* * *

 _June 1st, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

The knock came just as Quinn was pouring over the various take-out menus in her drawer, trying to decide what to order for dinner. She frowned, trying to figure out who it might be before she walked down the hall and peered through the peephole. She wasn't expecting anyone, and Nat and Clint were just back from a mission and thus decompressing somewhere, so that left… A twinge in her gut a second before her vision focused on the distorted hall confirmed her sudden suspicion. Her hope.

Steve.

Holding a pizza box in one hand and a bulging plastic bag in the other. He was looking right at her. Or, right at the peephole, anyway.

Quinn sighed and closed her eyes against the flutter of happiness and anticipation in her stomach before she opened the door and tried to smile like she hadn't been driving herself crazy with thoughts of Steve for the past three weeks. Like half of her hadn't been hoping Steve would be the one to break the silence between them because she was too damn scared to do it. And maybe she liked the idea of him pushing to be near her just a little.

For a heartbeat though, silence still reigned.

Then Steve, a tinge of pink on his cheeks, said, "So everyone keeps giving me movies to watch, and now I have a whole list. You have more movies than anyone else I know, so I was hoping you could help me check some of them off."

Quinn couldn't stop the smile from taking over her face. She'd missed the sound of his voice. "I think I can probably help you get through your list." She stepped aside to let him in, the butterflies in her gut flapping wildly; she couldn't recall ever having such a reaction to another person. "Especially if you keep bringing me pizza."

Steve grinned. "I haven't known you long, but I do know you don't like to cook."

Quinn led the way into the living room, where Steve deposited his burdens on the coffee table. She inhaled deeply as she opened the pizza box. "Pepperoni, bacon, and green peppers. Did I tell you those were my favourite toppings?"

Steve pulled a couple cans of root beer out of the plastic bag, along with a smaller cardboard box, and then took a small notebook out of his pocket. "Natasha told me. She also told me you like root beer with your pizza and garlic bread with cheese."

 _I see what you're doing, Nat._ "Well, I can't say I'm not thankful." Quinn pulled a slice of pizza free and took a large bite. She closed her eyes and savoured the flavour for a minute. When she opened her eyes, Steve was flipping through the notebook, his cheeks pink-tinged again. She had the distinct impression he'd been watching her.  _What's happening?_ She swallowed and cleared her throat. "So show me this list," Quinn said.

Steve passed her the notebook, open to a page filled in Steve's writing. Quinn scanned it as she finished her piece of pizza, and then got to her feet and walked over to the shelves holding her movie collection. After a moment of deliberation—nothing too scary or too romantic, nothing too heavy—she settled on a DVD and slid it from its spot. Her movies were arranged in alphabetical order, making her choices easy to find.

"Which one did you pick?" Steve asked as she turned to the TV and DVD player.

" _The Incredibles,"_ she said. "It's about superheroes," she added with an eyebrow wiggle.

Steve laughed, which was what she'd hoped for.

Once the movie was playing, she settled on the couch beside him, and grabbed another slice of pizza. "This list is good, but it's a bit incomplete. Mind if I add some stuff?"

"Go ahead."

The list was a combination of movies, music, TV shows, books, speeches, major events—anything important or culturally significant or awesome that Steve had missed out while he was frozen. Quinn could spot suggestions she was sure came from Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Maria, and maybe even one or two from Fury. She grabbed a pen from the mug of them she kept on one end table, and started writing down more suggestions in whatever category she could think of; hers definitely ran more towards the awesome end of the spectrum.

"Quinn," Steve said after a while.

She was on her third page of recommendations, and third slice of pizza, her gaze flicking back and forth between the page and her shelf. Steve was intent on the movie; she tuned in for her favourite parts. "Yeah?"

"I… I've missed you this past month."

"Three weeks," she said, too quickly. They both flushed a bit, and Quinn continued on, a little embarrassed and confused by her outburst.  _Just like everything else._ "Uh, sorry. Uhm…" She could feel her face heating and looked at Steve, then away, then back. "I've missed you too, Steve. It's just been…"

"I know."

Were they hinting at the same thing? Did he think she was talking about Coulson's death and her grief? Was she? She looked down at the notebook in her lap. She had felt better since Steve had arrived, her mind settled. She was still grieving Coulson—she would grieve him in some way forever—but she was past the point of telling herself she only wanted Steve around to help her in that regard. No, she hadn't been talking about her grief. She'd been talking about her feelings for Steve. It was awkward and complicated, and she wanted to say that, but didn't know how.

But was he talking about the same thing?

Did he have feelings for her?

 _No. He can't. Wishful thinking._ Quinn forced herself to smile at Steve. "I'm sorry I've been… distant."

"You don't have to apologize."

Quinn wanted to tell him she did have to apologize because she'd been purposely avoiding him, but settled for saying, "It stops here. I need to stop… hiding." She tapped the notebook with her pen. "We can make our way through this list. And I know you've adjusted pretty well to the new century, but I can still… help. I mean, officially, I'm still your handler. SHIELD never replaced me when I took over Coulson's job."

One corner of Steve's mouth twitched, like he was suppressing a smile.

Quinn realized she'd been rambling a bit. Smirking, she pointed at the TV with her pen. "You should be focusing on the movie, Cap."

She just caught Steve's smirk before he looked away.

Blushing, Quinn grabbed a piece of garlic bread and turned back to the list.

* * *

  _June 8th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Steve's apartment_

Quinn knocked on Steve's door quietly. It was late—she'd gotten stuck at work, dealing with a field agent who'd called in an 804 and then almost immediately rescinded the report—but she had to talk to him. When he didn't come to the door immediately, a wave of guilt surged through Quinn. Steve didn't sleep much; what if she'd woken him?

She'd taken one step across the hall when Steve opened the door. "Quinn? What's wrong?"

He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and his hair was rumpled—he'd definitely been sleeping. "Oh god, Steve, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I probably would have been up soon anyway. Come in." He walked back into his apartment, leaving the door open for Quinn to follow. "Did something happen?" he asked as she closed the door.

"Uh, no. Nothing bad anyway." Quinn leaned against the counter in Steve's kitchen, watching as he made coffee. She crossed her arms to keep from fidgeting. For a moment, she debated whether easing into what she had come to talk to him about would be better, but then decided jumping in was the way to go. "Did you still want to go and see Peggy?"

Steve paused, his hands flat on the counter on either side of the percolating coffee machine. When he turned his head to look at Quinn, his face was unreadable. "Yes," he said, almost too quiet to hear.

"I've arranged for us to go next Friday. Peggy's nurse, Anna, will let us know that morning if she's not up to visitors, but as it stands, flight and hotel are all set. We'll head down Thursday night. I have to go with you to the retirement home, since they know me, but you can have all the time with Peggy you want, and—"

"Quinn."

Her jaw snapped shut; she hated that she rambled when she was nervous, and lately, just whenever she was around Steve.

"Thank you." Steve handed her a steaming mug and held his in both hands, like he was savouring the warmth. "I'm glad you'll be there, actually."

"Oh?"

"I…" He gave his head a small shake. "I'm looking forward to seeing her, of course, but… How do you talk to someone who's lived a full life when you've essentially stood still for so long?"

Quinn couldn't imagine all the questions Steve was asking himself, all the scenarios he was running through about what might have happened had he and Peggy been allowed to have their life together. Quinn put her mug down on the counter and crossed her arms again. "I wish I had answers for you, Steve. I can't even imagine what you're feeling where she's concerned."

Steve moved so he was leaning on the counter next to Quinn. Quinn shuffled over the fraction of an inch between them, so her shoulder pressed lightly against his bicep. "It still doesn't seem real sometimes, that she had this whole other life, that she aged… Whenever I think about how this reunion might go, I have to remind myself she doesn't look like she did when I knew her. That she might not even be the same person anymore."

"In that regard, I can offer some reassurance: on a good day, Peggy is as my great-grandfather described her in his journals. She's been stubborn and confident and sure since I've known her, and unafraid to kick the ass of anyone who doesn't listen to her. Verbally, at least."

Steve chuckled a bit as he took a sip from the mug still cradled in his hands. "That sounds like Peggy."

* * *

 _June 15th, 2012  
_ _Washington, DC—Willow Grove Retirement Home, Peggy Carter's room_

Willow Grove Retirement Home was a smaller, pricer facility, but Quinn knew it was worth it. It felt more like a residence than a hospital, and all the residents she'd seen during her few visits seemed happy and healthy. Those who needed extra care got it, and those who wanted more freedom had it, to whatever degree was deemed safe for them. Even so, Quinn always felt a little uncomfortable in the place, and tended to stay on the familiar path from reception to Peggy's room.

Currently, she was standing outside Peggy's room with Steve, who was preparing himself for the moment Anna told them it was okay for them to enter. Steve had asked Quinn to go in first so she could say hi to Peggy and help prepare her; Anna would do her best, but a more personal touch might be better. Steve was tense, his back ramrod straight, and Quinn felt useless, unsure how to put him at ease, or even if she should try.

Anna opened the door after what seemed like ages, but was only a few minutes. "You can come in now," she said. A complicated mix of happiness and apprehension warred across her face.

Quinn flashed her a nervous smile and then gave Steve's hand a quick squeeze before she slipped into the bedroom.

Peggy was in bed, as she usually was, propped up against a pile of pillows so she was almost sitting upright. Her eyes were clear and bright, but there were tears on her cheeks. "Quinn!" she breathed upon seeing the younger woman. "Is it true?" She reached towards Quinn.

Quinn perched on the edge of the chair and took Peggy's hand in both of hers. She couldn't stop tears from filling her eyes; Peggy was so happy. "It is. It's true. SHIELD found him, frozen in the wreck of the  _Valkyrie_. When the ice froze, he woke up."

"And he's okay?"

Quinn smiled. "He's okay. The serum kept him alive and kept him… the same. He looks the same as he did when he went into the ice."

Peggy's hand tightened on Quinn's and, for a moment, her shock was clear. But it faded quickly, once again replaced by the joy and relief Quinn had seen before. Peggy's eyes darted from Quinn to the door and back. "How do I look?"

The laugh fell from Quinn's lips and relief soothed her discomfort. "You look gorgeous, as always. I'll go get him." Quinn squeezed Peggy's hand gently and then got to her feet. She poked her head out the door and smiled at Steve, using one hand to wipe away a few tears that escaped. "Come in, Cap."

Steve clasped her shoulder as he passed and Quinn turned to watch him cross the room and come to a stop at the foot of Peggy's bed. Peggy's eyes widened, and she began to cry again, one hand covering her mouth.

"Oh, Steve…"

He sat in the vacated chair and took both Peggy's hands in his. There were tears in his eyes too, but he was smiling, and it was the smile that Quinn loved but a bit different. This was a smile just for Peggy. Quinn stepped out of the room and dropped onto a bench in the hallway to wait, pulling out her phone so she had something to focus on. Anna was chatting with another nurse nearby, but otherwise, the hall was empty and quiet.

Quinn felt herself growing more nervous as time passed. She checked all her social media accounts, her work and personal emails, and even tired to play a few games, but nothing could hold her focus. She got up after a few minutes and paced the hall a bit, and, when Anna went in to check on things, hovered near the door. She didn't want to intrude, but she also really wanted to be in that room. A moment after Anna went in, Steve came out, looking more relaxed than Quinn had ever seen him. She took a step back so she could more easily look him in the eye.

"Anna said I should leave, since Peggy was starting to get tired and she's more likely to slip away when she's tired. Peggy told me to say goodbye to you though, and to thank you."

Quinn's cheeks flushed. "No need. I'm just glad it went well."

Steve started walking back towards the front door and Quinn fell in step beside him, once more feeling awkward and unsure what to do or say. What was wrong with her?

"I made sure they had my number so Peggy could call if she wanted. It was good to talk to her again. To hear about her life."

Steve might have been relaxed, but Quinn could hear the faint strain in his voice as he spoke—it was still hard for him to face what he'd lost out on. She wanted to take his hand, offer him some comfort, but she wasn't sure she should touch him. Instead, she led the way out of Willow Grove and across the street to a small park, Steve following without question. She found a semi-secluded bench under some of the willow trees giving the park and retirement home their names and sank down on it.

"You were right," Steve said as he settled beside her. "She's the same person she was."

Quinn made a vague noise, still unsure what to say.

Thankfully, it didn't seem to matter too much at the moment.

"She told me about her late husband, her children… Have you met them?"

"Only once. We didn't really talk too much." Quinn rubbed her bad leg, massaging along the scar. "She told me about them though. She's proud of them."

Steve nodded, finally turning to look at Quinn; she could see the pain in his eyes, the pain he was trying to hold back. "And her husband?"

"I never met him, no. Peggy and I would usually meet for lunch or dinner somewhere, so it was just the two of us. Sometimes Coulson." Quinn sighed, wishing she knew what to do to help Steve. "I hope you two get a chance to talk some more," she said quietly.

"Me too." Steve sighed as well and sank back against the bench, his eyes watching a few people walk along the path through the park. "It might hurt, but I'm glad she got to be happy." His voice was quiet, as it usually got when he started thinking about his past. "We never really talked about what might happen after the war. We were too busy just trying to get to the other side of it."

"Did you ever think about the future?" Quinn asked cautiously.

"More and more towards the end, when it seemed like we were finally getting ahead of HYDRA. I thought about it a lot in the plane. I was never really…" Steve shook his head and then stood up. "Let's head back to the hotel. I could use some dinner."

Quinn got to her feet, her leg protesting a bit. She wasn't going to push; if Steve wanted to change the subject, they would, and if he wanted to talk about it more, she would listen. "Sounds good. Maybe we can find a movie from your list to watch."

"I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2

_June 22nd, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"I do not want a new physical therapist."

" _I know, Quinn, but you still need help, especially if you insist on being nearly blown up every few months."_

"I wasn't nearly blown up. I was nearly  _shot_. And then the helicarrier nearly fell out of the sky."

" _Well, excuse me. My point is that you need someone to make sure you're exercising the leg, stretching it, and working on strength and flexibility. Someone who will follow a regimen. If you continue to be so rough on the limb, it's never going to heal to the point where you don't have to wear the brace."_ There was a short pause and a sigh.  _"Although, if you get yourself killed, it won't matter, I suppose."_

Quinn dropped heavily onto her couch and stretched out on her back, her feet propped up on the armrest. She kept the phone pressed to her ear, though she was fighting the urge to throw it across the room or, at least, hang up as forcibly as she could with a cell phone. With the other hand, she traced the top of her Stark-made brace; when she focused on it, she could still feel the electrical buzzing coming from the pins in her leg, assisting with her movement. She wanted to be done with physical therapy. She wanted to be back to the way she'd been before a building had nearly crushed her.

Mike Vaughn had been her physical therapist since she'd been moved to New York after her accident, and had helped her get used to the brace Tony Stark had designed for her. And they were friends now too. But Mike and his fianceé were planning a wedding at the same time they were moving to Boston, and that kept Mike from helping Quinn in person. She was technically his last patient in New York City, and she was reluctant to let go, to start at the beginning with another physical therapist who didn't know her, especially when she didn't need the help as much as so many others. She should have been long past the need for regular work, but, as Mike had said, she had a nasty habit of getting tossed around.

"Does it have to be a trained physical therapist?" she asked grudgingly. Maybe there was a compromise…

" _Preferably, yes, but if SHIELD has someone you trust to make sure—"_

"Not technically SHIELD, but—"

She could almost hear Mike rolling his eyes.  _"Yes, Captain America can help you. I'll email you the list of exercises and stretches you need to do every day and you will email me your progress, okay?"_

"Yes, Dad."

Mike snorted. A sure sign he was trying to keep his laughter in.  _"You've come such a long way, Quinn, but if you keep putting yourself in these situations, you're going to be in that brace forever."_

"I know, but I can't—"

" _I wasn't telling you to take it easy or leave SHIELD or anything like that, Quinn. I know it's important to you. But you have to take better care of the leg or you_ will  _be in the brace forever."_

Quinn blinked away a few tears that sprung to life; the Battle of New York, Coulson's death, and the pressures of her new position were still new enough that she was caught off-guard by a wave of emotion every now and again, especially when confronted with hard truths. "Okay, enough about that. Tell me about the new house and the wedding planning."

Quinn and Mike spoke for a while longer, covering all the updates in his life, and then he asked her a few questions about how things were going. He didn't know all the details about the SHIELD stuff, but he knew enough. Quinn enjoyed the conversation. It was a nice break from her normal day to day. After she'd hung up with Mike, she stayed on the couch, her phone on her stomach, and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts bouncing from her job, to the onslaught of calls and emails she'd had from people trying to contact one or all of the Avengers, to the projects she was working on on her own, and the missions Clint and Nat were undertaking…

A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She didn't bother getting up though, despite the flutter in her stomach. It was Friday evening—it would only be one person. "It's open!" she yelled.

She heard the door open and close, and a moment later Steve stepped into the living room, a bag of takeout in one hand. He took in her position on the couch. "Long day?" he asked.

Quinn found herself smiling widely at his tone; Steve coming over on Fridays to watch a movie from his list and eat takeout he chose because he wanted to try was fast becoming a routine, and one she looked forward to. Seeing him immediately made her feel better. "Very," she said, carefully sitting up and facing forward on the couch. "What did you get tonight?"

Steve set the takeout on the coffee table and headed for Quinn's shelves of DVDs. "Thai. Natasha gave me a list of dishes to try, so I got one of each from the place down the street." He pulled a movie shelf and studied the cover. "I know the leftovers will get eaten," he added, smirking.

Quinn snickered. "Did you happen to get chicken pad thai?"

"I did." Steve put the movie in the DVD player and Quinn set up the rest of the system while Steve retrieved two beers from the fridge.

Quinn paused in retrieving her food from the bag, momentarily stunned by the familiarity and domesticity of the situation. Steve knew his way around her apartment as well as he did his own, and these Friday nights felt… right. She shook her head.  _This is fine. We're just friends. No closer._ Quinn huffed.  _Except that— No._ She forcibly shut down the train of her thoughts, took the beer Steve handed her, and took a long drink before digging into her food. She knew her cheeks were flushed.

Thankfully, Steve was focusing on the movie— _Jaws_ —and didn't notice.

After a few moments, Quinn put down her food. "Steve, can I ask you a favour?"

Sensing something serious or important, Steve paused the movie and turned to face her. "Of course."

Her cheeks flared again—why was she so nervous? "Since, uh, Mike is moving to Boston, and I don't want to get another physical therapist, I asked him if someone else could help me with my leg and he said sure and I was wondering if you'd do it?" The last words tumbled out.

Steve shifted a bit, the muscles in his jaw bunching as he clenched his jaw. "What would I have to do?"

Quinn scratched her head and ran her fingers back through her hair; she'd taken her hair out of its usual braid as soon as she'd gotten home and it fell in messy waves around her shoulders. "Well, he's going to send me a list of stuff, but mostly it would just be going for walks with me and supervising my exercises so I don't hurt myself, but still actually push myself." She took in the expression on Steve's face. "You don't have to answer now," she said hurriedly, wanting to assuage any awkwardness.

"I would be happy to help, Quinn, I've just never done anything like that before. Why ask me?"

"Besides the fact you're familiar with regimens and discipline?" She smirked and Steve laughed softly. "You know about my injuries, you've helped me before, and… I trust you."

Steve smiled the small, quiet smile Quinn was so fond of. "Of course I'll do what I can to help."

Quinn's cheeks flushed again and she returned the smile. She wanted to reach across the couch and squeeze his hand or something, but she refrained. "Thanks, Steve."

* * *

_June 29th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Steve's apartment_

Steve was bored.

He had developed a routine of sorts since the Battle of New York, but being back in the fray had made him realize just how much he needed something to do, how much he needed a battle to fight. Some goal to work towards. Reading files and learning about the twentieth century was all well and good, but Steve was used to having something bigger to be a part of. Quinn had been poking around SHIELD, looking for a place, and she'd mentioned a while ago that Directory Fury was working on something, but it might still be a while.

So, while he waited, he went to the gym, went to the library, went to museums, browsed the internet, read SHIELD files, watched movies and TV shows with Quinn, helped her with her physical therapy, explored the city—which was both familiar and vastly strange—and sometimes went by Avengers Tower to see what Tony was working on and to observe the progress on the remodel of the former Stark Tower. He passed the time best he could and hated himself a bit for hoping something would happen to call Captain America back to the font.

He was reading a fantasy novel Quinn had lent him when he heard her come up the hall. It was very late—she had been staying at SHIELD's New York headquarters late almost every night, fielding calls from people trying to get ahold of the Avengers and trying to arrange something more formal—and he could tell by the sound of her footsteps that she was in pain.

Steve put his book down and went to the door, opening it to find Quinn standing in the hall with her fist poised to knock.

She gave a little start and then shook her head. Her tawny eyes were dull; she was exhausted. "I just wanted to apologize for missing movie night," she said. Her voice was thick.

"You don't have to apologize, Quinn," he said. Though, in truth, he'd felt a little disappointed when she'd texted to say she was stuck at work. He enjoyed spending Friday evenings with Quinn, and appreciated that she was always willing to answer his questions about… anything. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just exceptionally tired." She gave him a sleepy smile. "A couple reporters won't take no for an answer, so I finally just told the switchboard not to let them through anymore. Media relations was never supposed to be part of my job, but they all want to talk to the 'official liaison.' Same thing is happening at Stark Enterprises." Quinn sighed and leaned on the doorframe, looking up at Steve. "If the Avengers are going to actually do this, you guys may need to hire some people."

Steve laughed. "I'm sure Tony has already started on that."

"Oh, probably." Quinn's head thumped lightly against the doorframe and her eyes fluttered closed. She forced them open again and looked up at Steve from under her lashes. "I also wanted to tell you that Fury's ordered a reconfiguration of Strike Team Delta once all open assignments are complete, which I think means he's making a spot for you."

Steve felt a rush of relief and he was nearly overcome with the desire to hug Quinn. "Thank you, Quinn."

She was watching him closely, and when he thanked her, she smiled, her tongue darting over her bottom lip. "Don't thank me yet. When Fury finishes sorting things out and you actually get the position, you can thank me then."

"You'll keep me updated?"

"Of course I will." Quinn reached forward and squeezed Steve's forearm. "I've gotta get some sleep, Steve, before I fall asleep standing up. Night."

"Good night, Quinn."

He watched her cross the hall, unlock and open her door, and step inside her apartment. She turned around and smiled at him, leaning heavily on the door. They held each other's gaze for a second before she closed the door.

Steve sighed and went back to his book.

* * *

_July 1, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

When she was still living with her biological parents, Quinn had hated her birthday. It was never celebrated and it didn't mark anything for her except that another year of having to act older than she was, of having to help take care of her siblings, of being nothing but a source of income for her parents had passed.

When Jared and Margret had adopted her, it had taken several years for Quinn to warm up to the idea that birthdays should be special. She'd never had anyone cook her her favourite breakfast or give her gifts or write her a heartfelt message inside a funny card. When the Nolans realized the extent of Quinn's apathy and saw that she didn't hate the idea, they started to go all-out. For her tenth birthday, they took the day off work, let her stay home from school for the day and took her to the zoo. They are junk food all day and didn't leave the zoo until it was nearly dark. For her thirteenth birthday, they went to a five-star restaurant where she was serenaded by the owner and presented with a massive chocolate cake with strawberries, lit with sparkling candles. For her sixteenth birthday, they gave her sixteen gifts, all of which were things she wanted. Nothing she needed.

After she'd been accepted into SHIELD, Coulson—who'd loved birthdays—had taken her out for Belgian waffles and hot chocolate every year for breakfast, given her a very nice gift, and decorated her desk with balloons and banners and cupcakes.

So when she woke up on her birthday two months after Coulson had died, it was the first year in a long time she didn't wake up looking forward to what the day would bring. She laid in bed for almost an hour after waking, just staring the ceiling and trying no to cry. Coulson wouldn't have wanted her to be sad on her birthday.

Eventually, she pried herself out of bed, showered, and dressed in leggings and a loose tank top. It was Sunday, so she took her time. After she had affixed her brace and donned her purple Converse, planning to go for a short walk before it got too hot, she checked her phone. Birthday messages from her friends, her parents, her colleagues, all of which made her smile. Clint sent her a picture from the previous year of her, him, Nat, and Coulson at a nearby bar with the message  _Happy Birthday, Scottie! The Boss would be proud of you, and I am too. Call if you need me._ Quinn nearly burst into tears.

She was a little sad there wasn't a message from Steve, but she didn't go hunting for him either. His birthday was in a few days and it was likely he was dealing with his own net of emotions.

After a pleasant walk through the warming city, and breakfast—not at the diner where she and Coulson had gone—she headed back home, stopping at the bookstore to grab a few new releases on the way. She was feeling happier than she had when she awoke by the time she returned home, but everything was replaced by fear when she saw the door to her apartment open a tiny bit.

Quinn switched her grip on the bag with her books in it so she could swing it like a club if she had to, and stepped inside. It was possible she just hadn't pulled the door closed, but she was usually pretty careful about locking her door.

Instead of a burglar or attacker or anything hostile—

There was a small cake sitting on her kitchen island next to a shiny blue bag. Quinn felt a wave of emotion swell inside and tears filled her eyes. She set her purchases on the counter and stepped closer. The cake was iced in white with a red maple leaf on top. Across everything, written in black, was "Happy Canada Day—I mean, Birthday!"

"Oh—I didn't hear you come back."

Quinn turned and smiled at Steve. His cheeks flushed and his eyes dropped, but then he looked up and he was smiling too. He passed her a card sealed in a bright blue envelope. "You didn't have to do this, Steve."

He shrugged and took a seat on one of the stools, putting him more at eye-level with Quinn. "You told me about the traditions you and Coulson had, and I thought you might feel a bit… sad today."

"I was." Smiling, Quinn wiped the tears out of her eyes and opened the card. Steve had written a kind message, thanking her for helping him adjust and getting him to see Peggy. She stood the card open on the countertop and then pulled the gift bag into her lap as she sat on the stool in front of the cake. "I like the cake."

"Bucky made that joke on my birthday every year."

"I think Bucky and I would have gotten along." She paused as the words left her mouth, and looked up at Steve. "Shit, I'm—"

He waved away her concern. "I think you would have too." Then, to ward off any awkwardness, he gestured at her gift.

Quinn unwrapped three books, all older titles missing from her existing collection. She was touched that he'd paid that much attention when browsing through her books for something to read. "These are perfect!" She put the books in the bag, and the bag on the island, and then slid off the stool to hug Steve before she thought too much about why she shouldn't. "Thank you, Steve."

He returned the hug, and his lips brushed her cheek before she pulled back, the barest of touches. She knew her cheeks were pink, but Quinn smiled at him, and then retrieved two forks from the drawer. She offered one to Steve.

"Cake?"

_July 4, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Avengers Tower, top floor_

"Did he have to make this a  _formal_ event?"

"I'm not sure he knows another kind, Scottie," Maria Hill said as she stepped into the elevator.

Quinn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as the elevator started to head up to the top floor. Avengers Tower was still under construction, but the top floors were complete and, to help raise money for the rebuilding efforts after the Battle of the New York, Tony was holding a July 4th party with five of the six Avengers, a handful of SHIELD agents, a few of New York's richest, and a smattering of media to cover everything in detail. He'd sent the invitations a couple weeks ago and Quinn hadn't really thought about it too much until that morning, when she had to get dressed.

She wasn't fond of parties.

"I just hate dressing up. Sleek as my brace is, it doesn't do much for formal wear." She stuck her leg out of the slit in her navy dress, showing the gunmetal brace, stark against her pale, scarred skin. "I just feel silly."

"Well, you look great."

Quinn snorted. "Thanks."

"This is where you're supposed to say 'oh, you look great too, Hill.'"

Fury's right-hand woman certainly did look great in her magenta gown with her dark hair pinned back from her face. It wasn't often Maria dressed up, but she never half-assed anything. Around a chuckle, Quinn said, "Pink's not your colour."

Maria elbowed Quinn in the ribs as the elevator doors opened onto a beautiful glass and metal multi-tiered living room. The two SHIELD agents sighed at the same time and shared a look that set them both back to laughing.

"Only Tony Stark," Maria said under her breath. She nudged Quinn's arm as she walked by, headed for the bar. "Looks like your captain is already here."

"He's not—"

One of Hill's eyebrows rose.

Quinn felt herself blush as she looked away from where Steve was leaning on the bar, cursed her inability to suppress the response, and then said, "Shut up," and headed in the opposite direction, to where she saw Nat perched on the edge of a couch, holding a glass of amber liquid in each hand. She winked when Quinn made eye contact. "Is everyone just going to try and predict my actions tonight?" she asked, taking one of the glasses as she dropped onto the couch. With her other hand, she clutched the small gift box.

"You're easy to predict when you get flustered, Scottie."

"Did you tell Maria to provoke me?"

Nat smirked into her whiskey. "Maybe."

"Nat—"

She raised her free hand in surrender.

In truth, Quinn didn't actually mind the teasing all that much; she liked feeling like she had brothers and sisters, ones who actually wanted to be around her and liked having her around. What she was worried about was how Steve would take it if he overheard, and how it would affect their friendship. She was trying to stuff her feelings down so they didn't get out of control or get in the way, and getting teased about them was not helping her win that battle.

_You're being ridiculous,_ she told herself.  _Just relax._

She chatted with Natasha while finishing her drink—mostly about where Clint was, which was at home, and how much he was missing out, though they wouldn't mind being on a farm in the middle of nowhere right then—and then headed across the room to the bar. Steve was talking to an familiar and overeager reporter who was furiously writing down everything Steve said in a tiny notepad. Steve's brow was furrowed, his shoulders tense. The reporter leaned closer as Quinn approached.

"Captain Rogers, what would you say to those—"

"Mr. Bransen," Quinn said, inserting herself physically between the reporter and Steve. The reporter had a good six inches of height on Quinn, but he started and took a step back. "If you wish to interview Captain Rogers, you should go through my office or Stark Enterprises. You know that."

"I've been trying—"

"You and about a thousand others, Mr. Bransen. If you want to ask about the funds being raised, or about the party, or the Stark Foundation, I believe I saw Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts over by the window—" she gestured with her empty glass towards the massive wall of glass overlooking New York "—and if you want to get some information on the construction efforts, the head of The Department of Damage Control is over there, at the other end of the bar." She plastered a bright, fake smile on her face before turning her back on the reporter and looking up at Steve.

Bransen sputtered for a moment, then stalked away.

Steve exhaled, his shoulders dropping. "Thank you."

"The media is relentless. You can't give them anything, especially at events like this."

"Have you been to many fundraisers?"

Quinn shrugged with one shoulder as she accepted a fresh drink from the bartender. "No, but I've been to enough." She handed the gift to Steve. "This is— I meant to give this to you earlier, but you weren't home when I knocked." His fingers brushed hers when he took it and a shiver went up her arm, down her spine. "Happy birthday," she said quietly.

Steve unwrapped it quickly—Quinn wasn't great at wrapping presents—took it in, and then looked up at Quinn. "Quinn… This is too much."

"No it isn't." She rapped one knuckle against the sleek white iPod box. "You liked mine, and you've got a lot of music to listen to on that list of yours, so…" Quinn shrugged. "Now you can do it while you run or work out or something."

Steve smiled. "Thank you."

Quinn returned the smile, and she wanted to hug him again, but she was feeling exposed, like everyone at the party was watching—she knew Natasha was at least. She chewed on her bottom lip. "I'm heading home as soon as the fireworks are done and I say hi to Stark; I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't. We could watch  _The Empire Strikes Back_  if you want to escape," she added with a smirk.

They'd watched  _A New Hope_  after devouring a good portion of her birthday cake and Steve was pretty much hooked. Beyond enjoying spending time with Steve, Quinn got a huge kick out of watching him watch movies, and would much rather be at home in leggings and a t-shirt rather than fake smiling her way through the party.

"You think we can get out of here before they sing 'Happy Birthday'?"

Quinn laughed in surprise. "We can certainly try, although I wouldn't mind trying to get out of here with some more cake." Steve gave her a look and Quinn laughed again. "I ate the rest of mine for breakfast."

* * *

_July 6th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"Your leg is shaking. Are you sure?"

"Yes, Steve."

Thunder rumbled outside as Steve gently pushed Quinn's left knee towards the ground on the opposite side of her right hip. She winced as her muscles protested the stretch, but it did feel good; her bad leg always tightened when the weather turned. He helped her hold the stretch for about thirty seconds before guiding her left leg back to centre slowly. It was the last stretch in the routine Mike had sent her, a routine that never failed to make her feel weak. Quinn remained lying on her floor, her eyes watching the storm outside, for another minute.

She'd been in a funk all day, and she could tell Steve was aware of it. She wanted to say something funny or sarcastic to lighten the mood, but she just didn't have it in her.

Coulson's birthday was in two days. He would have been forty-eight. Instead, he was dead.

Quinn shook her head.  _Focus on work. That always helps._

"The Department of Education called me again today, this time with an actual plan" she said, climbing carefully onto the couch. She propped her legs up on a footstool and slumped down until she was comfortable. "They really want some PSAs from Captain America to show to high schoolers."

Steve sat down beside her. "What kind of PSAs?"

"The importance of exercise, the danger of smoking, puberty—pretty standard stuff these days. They seem to think the information will have more of an impact with kids if it comes from you. In the suit."

"Of course in the suit."

"You can say no, you know." It came out a little more snappish than she'd intended, but she didn't bother to correct it. Quinn queued up the movie they'd chosen for that night— _Terminator_ —and shifted a bit so she could see the TV and Steve at the same time. "You've only been out of the ice for a few months and you've already helped saved the world once. No one would blame you if you wanted to take it easy."

Steve shrugged. "Might as well do it. I've got nothing else to do."

"Steve—"

"It's okay, Quinn. I know you're working on it, but I'm…"

"Bored. I get it. I guess on Monday I'll tell the DoE to go ahead with the planning and to pick some dates for filming. And I'll make sure your suit's repaired and ready. And don't worry. I won't tell Tony why we need it."

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. Quinn turned away. "Are you okay?"

Quinn sighed, pushing back the rush of annoyance and anger and sadness. Her issues weren't with Steve. Not when it came to this issue anyway. She also knew he wouldn't judge her. "Coulson's birthday is on the eighth," she said after a moment. "I'm just… missing him more than usual." She shook her head, trying to shake away the emotions. None of that would bring Coulson back or help her move on. None of that would help anyone.

Steve said nothing. Condolences and platitudes would have only made Quinn angrier though, so she was glad when he stood up and asked, "Do you want some popcorn?"

"Sure."

Quinn watched the storm outside while the DVD menu looped. The rain was lashing the window, blurring her view of New York as lightning split the sky at nearly the same time thunder boomed. The storm was overhead. Steve returned a couple minutes later, steaming popcorn in a bowl. He placed it between them as Quinn started the movie and, for the next couple hours, Quinn tried to think only of the movie and the storm.

Around the middle of the movie, Quinn grabbed Steve's notebook from its spot on the coffee table and jotted down some of Coulson's favourite movies—mostly early James Bond and heist flicks. Steve took no notice; he'd check the additions later. This was just another part of their routine.

She fell asleep at some point after that, lulled unconscious by the sound of the rain and the comfort of Steve's undemanding presence. It was hours later, near 2:00 am, when she woke up again, her living room dark and quiet. She was alone, but she was tucked under a blanket, her head propped on a pillow, neither of which had been there earlier.

Quinn smiled to herself, rolled onto her side, and went back to sleep.

* * *

_July 13th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—The Starlight Café_

"I thought SHIELD cleaned up the area after the battle."

"They did," Quinn said, keeping her voice low. "But stuff still gets lost. Taken. Stolen. Sold."

Quinn and Steve were sitting at an outdoor cafe in downtown New York, about twenty blocks from where the Battle had taken place. Word of a Chitauri neural link up for sale on the black market had reached SHIELD and Quinn had taken the mission for herself. Well, she'd actually taken the mission for Steve, since she could see how restless he was getting without anything to do. The mission was classified as a low-level threat, but Quinn still had a small support team nearby to handle custody and to assist if things somehow got out of control. The sale was supposed to take place at The Starlight Café at 12:30pm, when it was busy with the lunch crowd.

Steve adjusted the aviator sunglasses he was wearing under a ball cap and scanned the crowd again. "Some things never change."

Quinn took a sip from her chai latte and leaned back in her chair to smile at Steve. They weren't playing at anything other than two people chatting over coffee, and Quinn was enjoying herself far more than she'd expected. Steve was relaxed and in his element, and Quinn hadn't been in the field since Puente Antiguo. She was almost… giddy.

"Eyes on the seller. Man with a metal briefcase at three o'clock," Quinn said, catching sight of the stiff-backed man strolling through the crowd towards the café.

Steve straightened and took a drink of his coffee, his eyes tracking the man. Together they watched him approach a table in the shade of the café's awning, the farthest from the street, where another man sat, dressed all in black and hiding beneath the brim of a ballcap. Quinn and Steve have watched the buyer arrive on feet five minutes ago. The buyer took a sip from a mug as the seller began to talk, the metal briefcase on the ground beneath the table.

"Subtle," Steve said.

Quinn shifted closer to Steve and raised her phone in front of them, like she was taking a selfie, but instead took a few pics of the suspicious men. Steve helped Quinn rise from her chair and together, they approached the men, moving calmly, Steve a half-step behind Quinn. The men didn't even give them a second look, not until their destination was clear.

"Gentlemen," Quinn said, moving to stand beside the table. She leaned forward, putting a hand on either side of the case. "I don't think that's yours."

"You let the fucking cops track you?" the buyer hissed, shooting to his feet and knocking his metal chair over backwards. His leg hit the table and knocked his coffee cup over. Steve grabbed his arm, preventing him from running, though he did try—and fail—to break free.

The café had gone silent around them, watching. A few patrons left hurriedly.

Quinn swept the case off the table and stepped back, her other hand dipping beneath her loose shirt to where her throwing knives and gun were belted. "We're not the cops."

The seller pulled a gun out and pointed it at Quinn. "Give me the case," he said, extending his other hand. At the same time, the man Steve was restraining went bug-eyed. "Fuck. Are you SHIELD?" His exclamation was cut off when Steve squeezed his arm in warning.

Quinn indulged herself and grinned at the buyer.

Moving as fast as she could, Quinn stepped inside his range and smacked the case into the seller's shoulder, knocking him off balance. She twisted the gun out of his hand and, keeping hold of his wrist, spun his arm behind his back and drove him to the ground by throwing her weight forward. Her bad leg screamed as she drove her right knee into his lower back, but she kept her balance. With both men pinned and Steve alert for any trouble, Quinn let go of the case to secure the seller's wrists with a zip tie. Steve secured the buyer's wrists; he was forced to give him a punch to the kidneys when he tried once again to escape.

Quinn pressed the button on the microphone around her throat. "Heller, this is Scott. Both targets secure."

" _Sending agents in for pickup now, but Scott? We've got eyes on the seller's driver, parked down the block, in front of a Starbucks. Silver SUV. He's getting antsy. Keeps looking at his watch."_

Quinn looked up at Steve, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. "Keep eyes on and pursue if he leaves. Backup's on its way." She let go of the mic button as the other SHIELD agents arrived from their position behind the café, and Quinn turned to Steve. Even though he probably would have been able to hear the conversation, she said, "Starbucks down the street a few blocks. Silver SUV. Be careful."

She watched Steve run off at was, for him, a jog, and then turned to make sure the agents had everything under control. The buyer and seller were being led away by one agent each, and the case was in the hands of another agent, who was currently checking the Chitauri neural link was in one piece. Quinn followed the agents to where their vehicle was parked.

"Agent Scott."

"Agent Heller," Quinn said, giving the younger agent a smile. Heller was tall and willowy with long black hair in braids, bright brown eyes, and a wicked right hook. "Thanks for the support."

"Not a problem." She nodded at something over Quinn's shoulder and Quinn didn't even need to turn to know what she was seeing. "This has been fun."

Steve arrived a moment later and dropped an unconscious and restrained man into the back of the waiting SHIELD car. He handed Heller a cell phone, wallet, and set of keys. "That's everything he had on him."

"Perfect. Thanks, Captain Rogers."

Heller bid them both goodbye and the SHIELD agents drove off, headed for headquarters. Steve and Quinn started for where he'd parked his motorcycle.

"How was that?" Quinn asked.

"It felt… good to have something to do."

"I'd be lying if I said that wasn't what I was hoping for when I took this mission." Quinn tripped on the curb, her bad leg locking, and Steve reached out to stabilize her. "Thanks. I did exactly what Mike warned me about and stressed it too much."

"You don't sound too worried."

"I'm not," she said with a grin. "It's been too long since I was active in the field like this. It  _was_ fun. I'll worry about my leg later."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "It was kinda fun."


	3. Chapter 3

_July 20th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Central Park_

"So? How was it?"

Steve stopped in front of the bench Quinn had camped out on while waiting for him to finish filming and looked down at her, unimpressed. "About as exciting as the other two days. Also, wearing the suit under those lights was uncomfortable. Remind me never to do anything like this again."

Quinn took the hand Steve offered and let him help her to her feet. She stretched, twisting her back until it cracked; she'd been stiff all day, her bad leg refusing to move without hurting or locking up. "Copy that. But you're done now?"

"Yeah. We got the last one done today, thankfully. They said they'll send you the finished videos for approval."

"Oo, you do not sound happy about that. Are you embarrassed?"

Steve tried to look mad, but he couldn't keep the smile off his face, which was the outcome Quinn had been going for. She liked being able to cheer him up. "You don't need to look so happy about it." He adjusted the bag carrying his suit and shield and started walking, Quinn falling in beside him. "What you said about the internet being forever… These are going to follow me around, aren't they?"

"Oh, probably." She grinned up at him. "Along with footage of your amazing world-saving deeds of course. But I also told you not to look for stuff about yourself on the internet, and I would reinforce that suggestion after these come out if you're unsure about them."

"You don't have to worry about that. I have zero desire to find out what thousands of people I don't know think about me."

Quinn chuckled. "Good." They continued on for a moment in silence, observing the park around them. Thanks to a nice breeze mitigating the summer heat, it was quite packed with picnickers, families, children, dogs, and all the expected noise. Quinn had parked on the other side of the park in order to fit in a walk before she and Steve headed back to their apartment building for their regular movie night. She didn't miss that Steve was adjusting his speed to let her set the pace. "Did they tell you when the videos will be done?"

"That excited to see them?" Steve gave her a cheeky grin and Quinn felt her cheeks flush as a now-familiar flutter sprang to life in her chest.

"Maybe."

"You should have them in a month."

"Perfect."

"You are enjoying this far too much."

Something in Steve's tone made Quinn stop walking so she could look up at him properly. He turned to meet her gaze, the muscles in his jaw bunching—a sure sign he was uncomfortable. Quinn frowned. "Hey, if you don't want these to go out, I'll stop them. They won't get past me. You just have to say the word."

"No, I want them out there if there's any possibility they'll help. I just… didn't expect to ever be doing something like this again." He started walking again and Quinn had to push herself a bit to keep up now; Steve slowed again when he realized. "It felt like all the propaganda films and the touring I did after I first was injected with the serum."

Quinn had seen most of those films, including footage of the tour. She'd read the official reports of the military being disappointed with only one super soldier coming out of the program—official reports written by her great-grandfather—and how that had led to Senator Brandt utilizing Captain America's image to sell bonds. She'd also read Colonel Phillips's personal thoughts on the situation in his journals, and heard about it first-hand from Peggy. Steve had wanted to do what he could to help the war and, before he ran off to save the 107th, the propaganda stuff was all that was available to him; although, Quinn supposed without Senator Brandt, the name "Captain America" wouldn't exist.

Instead of asking Steve about any of it though, Quinn took a deep breath and quietly sang, "Who's strong and brave, here to save the American way?"

Again, Steve lost the battle against smiling. "Let me guess. You know all the words to that song?"

Quinn grinned and continued in her less than stellar singing voice and threw in some hand gestures for good measure, marching along beside Steve. "Who vows to fight like a man for what's right, night and day? Who will campaign door to door for America? Carry the flag shore to shore for America? From Hoboken to Spokane—the Star Spangled Man with a plan!"

Steve actually snorted when he tried to stop himself from laughing out loud. "I haven't heard that song since 1944, though I've never heard it quite so… spirited."

"Flat, you mean?" Quinn laughed.

"Well…"

Quinn bumped her shoulder against Steve's arm and they walked on in comfortable silence, keeping a pace that didn't push Quinn too hard. She closed her eyes when the sun hit her face and inhaled the earthy scent of the park deeply, letting it ease the tension in her shoulders. As always, she was amazed at how Central Park felt like it existed entirely separate of the rest of New York City.

She could sense some melancholy lingering in Steve as they walked. He rarely spoke about his life before waking up in the ice in much detail. Usually it was just a snippet, a simple statement, and would then fall retrospective for a bit. Quinn savoured each glimpse and never pushed for more detail, even though she wanted to hear more. She knew the biographical details of his life, the battles he'd fought in and won, the HYDRA bases he'd brought down with his Howling Commandos, but hearing his memories was different. Special. Especially when she knew how difficult it was for him to talk about that time.

"Colonel Phillips hated that song," Quinn said as they neared the parking lot where she'd left her car. She spoke as if she'd been mulling over the statement a while.

"Was there anything he liked?"

Quinn shrugged. "Whiskey, steak, cigars, and tactical planning, as far as I can tell. And my great-grandmother, though from his accounts, she was as crotchety and stubborn as him. I wish I could have met her," she added wistfully. "I wish I could have met the colonel too."

"Sometimes I think I see something of him in you."

Quinn paused with her hand on the driver's side door of her car and frowned at Steve, her brow furrowed. "Is… that a compliment?"

"Yes. Yes, it is."

* * *

_July 27th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

" _I can't say I'm fond of being in Mexico in the middle of summer, Scottie. It is really fucking hot."_

Quinn snorted. "Just means you'll have to finish the mission faster so you can go inside where there's AC. What's your status?"

" _Nat's got them wrapped around her finger, as per usual. Just waiting to see the goods before we move in, so we can confirm they have all the alien tech with them. They're chatting about prices now."_ There was the sound of faint footsteps and then a small grunt from Clint.  _"Looks like it's just about show time. We'll call you when we're on our way home. Enjoy movie night,"_ Clint said with enough sass she could hear the wink.

"Oh, be sure to shoot yourself in the foot while you're at it, Hawkeye." She hung up to the sound of Clint's laughter, and dropped her phone on countertop.

"Sounds like their mission is going well."

Quinn looked up from the green pepper she'd gone back to chopping for a salad to where Steve was striding down the hall, a tight smile on her face. "Well enough. Clint was just complaining about the heat. They'll check in again when they're on their way back." She swept the green pepper off the cutting board and into a big bowl with lettuce, grated cheese, diced tomato, chopped carrots, and chopped cucumber.

Steve leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "You're cooking? What's wrong?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and pulled the chicken breasts she'd cooked onto the cutting board so she could start dicing them as well. "Ha ha. Nothing's wrong. I just…" She paused. Sighed. "I'm restless. Needed something to do. And I've eaten  _a lot_ of pizza this week." Quinn went back to cutting the chicken. "Nat and Clint's mission took a lot longer than projected and Fury asked for my help to get Strike Team Delta reorganized."

"On top of everything else?"

"A couple of low-level agents have been assigned to field calls and they have instructions to only pass on the ones that seem legitimate or important." Quinn scoffed. "I am going to kill whoever thought giving the media a contact point for the Avengers was a good fucking idea. And I'm going to double kill whoever it was who made that point of contact  _me_. I was just supposed to handle communication between SHIELD and the Avengers, not the Avengers and everyone else."

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again after thinking better about whatever he was going to say. Instead, he pushed Quinn back on topic. "The strike team?"

"Right. Sorry. Fury asked for my help," she stated again. "There aren't many planned missions left for Nat and Clint to run, but Fury wants to expand the team so it can handle a wider variety of missions and more than one at a time. There's lots of cleaning up to do after the Battle of New York. Also, Clint wants less time in the field, so we have to cover that."

Steve frowned. "Are you supposed to be telling me all this?"

"I'm keeping a few secrets," she said with a wink. She popped a piece of chicken in her mouth. "Regardless, all this means is it's going to take a big longer to get things settled, but I said I'd keep you updated." She dropped the rest of the chicken into the salad, licked some barbeque sauce off her thumb, and gestured at the salad. "Want some?"

"Sure. And thanks," Steve said as Quinn scooped a large serving of salad into a small bowl but left most of it for him, "for keeping me updated. I do appreciate it."

"I know." Quinn gave him a small smile. "I just wish I could get you answers, get you a place, sooner. I know how much you hate having nothing to do. I saw how much at home you were when we grabbed that neural link a few weeks ago."

"Knowing you're working on it isn't nothing, Quinn." Steve moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder.

Quinn's stomach fluttered in response to his touch and she mentally cursed herself yet again. It shouldn't have been so hard for her to keep her feelings in check; she'd never had any issue with it before. She reached up and patted Steve's hand. "Salad dressing's in the fridge," she said.

"Is it still good?"

"Ha ha, Cap. You're  _so funny._ " She tossed a look over her shoulder as she gathered her dinner and started towards the living room. "I bought it today but I bought the wrong kind, the kind that gives me serious heartburn, so help yourself." Quinn moved into the living room and settled in her favourite spot on the couch, bowl of salad in her lap. "It's your turn to pick the movie," she said as Steve entered the living room.

Steve spent less than thirty seconds looking at the shelf before he picked one and got it playing— _Blade Runner_. Quinn wasn't sure if he actually wanted to watch it—it was on the list, but it was a more recent addition—or if he just wanted to put something on because he thought it would get the atmosphere back to normal, but she didn't really care. She munched her salad and watched the moody sci-fi future play out and tried to let her frustrations go, let herself relax. Once she was finished eating, she curled up under a blanket and slumped against the armrest.

"Do you want to come to the gym with me tomorrow morning?" Steve asked.

Quinn shifted so she could look at Steve at the other end of the couch without sitting up. "As long as you're not going at the asscrack of dawn, sure."

"Is five too early?"

Steve kept his face straight enough that Quinn wasn't sure if he was joking or not. She frowned, he cracked, one corner of his mouth twitching, and then she chucked a pillow at his head.

* * *

_August 3rd, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—SHIELD headquarters, Agent Scott's office_

"Guys, I'm going to need you to be  _way_ more selective with these calls you're passing on to me," Quinn said, tapping the stack of phone messages on her desk. "Only give me the most dire ones. Send the rest of the approved messages to Stark's media team. They've got at least three times as many people to sift through this crap. Understood?"

The two agents nodded.

"Good. Dismissed."

Quinn watched the agents walk away. She groaned and looked down at the messages again, and then at the stack of dossiers for potential new members for Strike Team Delta. DIrector Fury had shipped her the list of names, told her to pull their files, and put together a short list for him by Monday. And she still had to finalize the extraction plan for Nat and Clint's next mission. And check on Jane Foster and the others associated with the Avengers who she kept an eye on.

_Where the hell did the day go?_

With an over exaggerated sigh, Quinn slumped in her chair until she drop her forehead against her desk. She rolled her head to one side to look at the time in the corner of her computer screen. It was 6:00 pm. She was normally already home. The disappointment filled her instantly. With her head still on the desk, Quinn speed-dialled Steve and brought the phone to her free ear.

" _Hello?"_

The surge of joy the sound of his voice brought was just as quick to wipe out the disappointment. She smiled to herself. There was no one around to see. "Hey, Cap."

" _Stuck at work again?"_ She could hear the smile in his voice. Did he like hearing her voice too?

_Don't go there, Quinn._  "Yeah. I have to finish a few things I can't bring home." Quinn sat up and leaned back in her chair. "Guess  _The Shawshank Redemption_ is going to have to wait."

" _Is that what we were going to watch tonight?"_

"Maybe. I was thinking about it earlier, but it doesn't matter now."

" _We could watch it tomorrow."_

There was the flutter again, at the idea that he wanted to spend time with her. Quinn was past trying to stop her emotions and was trying to just let them pass by like cars on a highway, but wasn't having much success with that either. As long as she didn't act on anything, it would be fine, she reminded herself. Her and Steve could stay friends and she would keep a certain distance between them and everything would be fine.

"Sure," she said. "As long as there are cheeseburgers."

" _Sounds good. See you tomorrow, Quinn."_

"Bye, Steve."

She ended the call and slumped forward onto the desk again, groaning loudly. Quinn wished Coulson was still around to talk to about this because, as much as he would be excited and tease her, he would still give her a good sounding board. And his teasing would be minimal. She supposed she could talk to Clint or Nat or Maria, but all of them favoured blunter methods, and Quinn wasn't ready to give up the truth of her feelings to them, even if they both already knew anyway. And she could have talked to her parents, she supposed, but these days their conversations were short. It was hard to keep people updated on your life when there was so much you couldn't talk about.

She groaned again, and then sat up, her eyes landing on the framed photograph of her, Coulson, Nat, and Clint, taken on the day Strike Team Delta had officially been created. At the last minute before the picture was taken, Quinn had stuck her tongue out, scrunched her eyes closed, and held up a peace sign. They'd retaken it, but Quinn liked this version better; from her face and Clint's outright laughter to Coulson's grin and Natasha's barely suppressed mirth, it just captured them better.

_It'll be okay,_ she told herself.  _You'll figure it out._

With a small sigh, Quinn rolled her shoulders and got to work.

* * *

_August 10th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Central Park_

The light rain meant the park was about as close to deserted as it ever got. The only people Quinn and Steve saw as they meandered around the paths were running somewhere, trying to dodge raindrops, or lingering under umbrellas as they were. Quinn had always loved the rain and the weather had elevated her mood after a week of late nights and frustrating tasks. She was also rather amused watching people run from the rain like they'd melt if it touched their skin.

She stepped out from under the umbrella Steve was holding above their heads and turned her face up to the rain, closing her eyes to savour the relief from the August heat. If she had been able, she would have skipped a few steps or jumped in a few puddles.

Behind her, the camera sound snapped from Steve's phone. He'd long since figured out the device, but lately he'd been taking more and more pictures of people and buildings and the park to use as references for drawing. Quinn smiled at him over her shoulder, let him take another picture, and then continued walking through the rain, inhaling the clean scent deeply.

"I haven't seen you this relaxed in a while," Steve said.

The remark made Quinn smile, the butterflies stirring to life in her stomach. "It's supposed to be overcast and rainy for most of the next week—maybe even some thunderstorms. My favourite weather." Quinn walked over to a nearby bench and climbed onto the seat.

"Give me your phone," she said, wiggling her fingers at Steve.

Frowning, Steve handed it over. "What are you—"

"Stand here. I'm gonna take a selfie of us."

"Why are you on a bench?"

"So we can easily get both our faces in it. You're like, ten inches taller than me, which presents some logistical problems. My arms are only so long." Steve held the umbrella over both of them as Quinn repositioned herself and the phone until she was happy. She snapped one before Steve could smile, then another when they were both smiling. "Make a funny face." Steve laughed, and then pulled a face that wasn't that silly, but worked. "You're not great at this." Quinn snapped a couple more, and then gave Steve back his phone.

"I'm not sure it's a skill I'll need," Steve said as he helped Quinn down from the bench.

Quinn shrugged as they started along the path again and smiled. "You never know."

They came to the top of a small rise in the path and Quinn stopped to observe the park spread out around them; Steve stood close behind so she'd be under the umbrella still, even though she didn't care about getting a little wet. After watching a dog running circles around its owner, Quinn's eyes settled on a group of kids running through the rain, jumping in puddles, and splashing each other. They were screeching with joy and the particular thrill of getting messy when you knew you weren't supposed to. Their school uniforms were splattered in mud, all the way up to their flushed faces, and the little girl's pigtails were falling out.

Quinn leaned on the railing, heedless of her arms getting soaked, and smiled, an unexpected sting of sadness spiking through her contentment.

"Quinn?"

She'd momentarily forgotten she wasn't alone. Standing up, she gave her head a small shake. "Sorry. Just, uh, got lost in my thoughts. We should get dinner." She started walking, Steve keeping pace beside her, and, for a few minutes, she was sure she'd be able to keep her mouth shut, but he'd read her file and was probably thinking about it anyway.  _Might as well address the elephant in the room._ "It doesn't happen often, but sometimes…"

"Quinn, you don't have to—"

She waved her hand, dismissing his concern, though it was appreciated. "We've spent a lot of time together, Steve. You know already, anyway. Might as well... " She sighed. "I just… Sometimes, out of nowhere, I think about what I want out of life after I'm done with SHIELD and the Avengers. After I'm done with this life. And then I think about what I can't have." She rubbed one hand over her face, scrubbed an imaginary piece of gunk out of the corner of one eye.

"Your file said the results were unclear."

She shrugged with one shoulder and kept walking without looking at Steve. "Technically, I guess, but when the doctors told me the news, they said it was highly unlikely, but since everything was still in one piece, there was no way to test anything." After a few beats of silence, Quinn stopped and looked up at Steve, his face pale against the black of the umbrella.

"Did— Do you want a family?" he asked.

"One day, maybe. I mean… it's not something I have to have, but it would have been nice to have something to settle into after a while." Her mind went to Clint's family, hidden out on the farm in the middle of nowhere, and to the look he got on his face whenever he spoke about them. Quinn loved seeing them all together; the last dinner she and Natasha had joined in on had been a chaotic experience with Clint's two young children, Lila and Cooper, too excited by their guests to focus on much. It had been loud and fun and the part of Quinn that remembered her childhood missed being surrounded by people. "There are other options, of course, but… Well, you know better than anyone what it feels like to have options taken away before you really get a chance to consider them properly."

After some awkward shifting, Steve gave Quinn a one-armed hug. She leaned against him briefly, but pulled away when she realized what she was doing.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Let's get food."

Quinn started walking again, heading towards a hot dog cart surrounded by a few large umbrellas with high tables around the stands. Steve followed her a few seconds later and Quinn was kicking herself for making things awkward. Bouts of sadness over what the accident had done to her were few and far between, especially since Stark's brace had helped her regain much of the mobility in her leg and she had healed from her other injuries. Her possibly inability to have children wasn't something she spoke to anyone about, even though several people knew, and know that it was out in the open…

_You're going to never bring it up again is what you're going to do,_ she told herself.

She smiled at Steve as he joined her at the hog dog cart, the now closed umbrella dangling from one hand. "How many do you want?"

Steve blinked at her, no doubt thrown by the sudden change in her demeanour. "Uh, two is fine."

Quinn ordered for them and didn't miss, as they topped their hot dogs and stood around one of the high tables, that Steve was watching her closely, maybe waiting for her to say or do something else. Maybe waiting for her to react somewhat like she had after the Battle of New York. Maybe he was just trying to figure her out.

* * *

_August 17th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

True to what Quinn had told him the week before, it had been rainy and overcast the whole week, culminating in a day of thunderstorms rolling over the city. Currently, the clouds were heavy and dark, rumbling angrily as lightning arced between them or reached down to the spires below, but the power had held, so Quinn had declared their usual movie night was going to proceed like normal until it couldn't. She'd started  _The Godfather_  and then fallen asleep maybe forty-five minutes into the movie.

Steve could have predicted that outcome.

She'd been half-asleep when she'd gotten home, shuffling down the hall from the elevator with a glazed look in her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered closed whenever she was still for more than a few minutes, and she'd barely eaten anything, but she'd stubbornly insisted she was awake enough for the movie, even as she downed a cup of strong coffee and grimaced at the taste.

What Steve couldn't have predicted was that she would fall asleep still sitting up, which left her free to slump over onto his shoulder, her blanket still clutched around her shoulders, when normally she would have been curled against the opposite armrest.

Quinn was usually careful to keep some physical distance between them outside of the odd touch or hug when one of them needed it. That worked well enough for Steve, who was still adjusting to the more subtle differences between 1945 and 2012, including how some people had no qualms about hugging or touching strangers as if they were lifelong friends. He'd noticed that, especially lately, she'd been extra fastidious about that distance and, since their conversation last week in the park, they hadn't really discussed anything personal. It wasn't the same as when she'd avoided him after Agent Coulson's death, but it was close.

Sometimes, Steve thought Quinn's forced distance was due to something else, but he'd never gone to the end of that train of thought. He wasn't sure what he'd do with what might be waiting there.

He looked down at Quinn, her face and shoulders slack with sleep. Her neck was crooked at an awkward angle and, if she stayed like that, she would wake up stiff and sore. Careful not to rouse her, Steve lifted his arm and draped it around her shoulders so her neck straightened and her head came to rest more on his chest. A small noise escaped Quinn's throat and she shifted a bit, moving closer to him, probably because of his body heat. He could feel her deep, even breaths through his t-shirt. One of her hands settled on his chest near her face.

Steve felt his face flush, but he didn't move her away. He could have. He could have laid her down on the couch, turned off the movie, and left. He'd managed to move her without waking her before. But something… something kept him there.

Most people looked vulnerable when they slept, peaceful, all the tension of waking life gone from their bodies. Quinn did too. He'd seen her vulnerable before, but then it had been exposed by grief. This was different. Less chaotic and raw. She was comfortable around him, trusted him.

Steve trusted her too, and there weren't many people he could say that about in 2012. Not yet, anyway.

Without thinking, Steve reached forward with his other hand and brushed a few strands of her long dark brown hair back from her face. Her eyes fluttered at his touch. Steve pulled his hand back, but she just pressed her face into his chest and stilled once more. His blush deepened, but Steve realized he was also smiling. He tucked the strands behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the soft skin at the corner of her jaw. She turned towards his hand a fraction, the fingers of the hand on his chest flexing.

Smiling, Steve settled into the couch and turned his attention back to the movie. It was strange to him how comfortable it felt having Quinn curled against his side, but he decided that was okay, and didn't dwell on it much longer.

After a while, his own eyes grew heavy, and Steve didn't fight the drop into unconsciousness.

When Quinn stirred a couple hours later, Steve was fully asleep, his head tilted back against the top of the couch. She didn't wake all the way up; only enough to realize where she was and that she was very, very comfortable. Still very much in the grip of sleep, Quinn settled her head back onto Steve's chest, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_August 24th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

Quinn tried to sneak into her apartment without alerting Steve to her presence, but she should have known she wouldn't have been able to pull it off. Not only was Steve probably waiting for her to get home—why had she texted him when the finished PSAs had come in?—he had excellent hearing, and the hall floorboards in the old building were far from silent. She still did her damndest though, and actually managed to make it to her door before the floor betrayed her, the sudden noise in the quiet hall making her jump a bit.

Steve's door opened as Quinn was unlocking her apartment, stopping her from escaping. "Have you watched them yet?" he asked.

Quinn exhaled, shaking off the adrenaline spike from being startled. She opened her door and walked inside, leaving it open for Steve to follow. He shut it behind him and took up a post in the hallway as he usually did while she bustled about, somewhere he could hear her and she could hear him through the door while she changed into comfortable clothes and did whatever else she needed to do before she settled in—just another part of their routine.

"No," she said through her closed bedroom door. "I figured you'd want to watch them as well and besides—" she stepped back into the hall, dressed in leggings and a baggy shirt instead of her suit "—the DoE didn't send them until like, 4:30." Since she was in for the rest of the evening, Quinn hadn't bothered to put her brace back on.

"Then why were you trying to sneak past my door?"

She walked carefully into the living room, limping only slightly. Steve followed. "I was hoping to watch them before I showed them to you."

"Why?"

"So I find out if any of them were really bad?"

Steve levelled a look at her when she turned to face him.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I wanted to watch them in case they made me laugh because I didn't want to embarass you or anything."

"Hm. Thanks. Did they say the final products were bad?"

"Man, you really are worried about these." Quinn perched on the edge of the couch and opened her laptop where it sat on the coffee table. "They're happy with them and think they'll have more of an impact with the youths than their current videos do. That's all they said." Steve dropped down beside her, his arm slung along the back of the couch, and she looked over at him. "I can still stop these from ever going out to schools. I told them I'd give my verdict on Monday morning."

"Let's see how bad they are first."

"I can't promise I'm not going to laugh."

"I would expect nothing less."

Steve leaned back as Quinn downloaded the files from her work email. Once she had all of them, she queued them up in a playlist and hit play. Quinn sunk into the couch and tucked her good leg underneath her, and tried not to think about how close she was to Steve, how easy it would be to lean against his warm chest as she had when she'd fallen asleep the week before.

She shook her head and focused on her laptop screen.

In truth, none of the PSAs were bad, and they were far less ridiculous than the PSAs Quinn had watched in high school. Whoever had written out what Steve was saying about puberty, detention, bullying, drugs, alcohol—whatever topics were relevant to teeenagers in middle and high school—had done a pretty good job. The information was good without being too preachy and it didn't smack of parents forbidding their kids to do anything. It was just about getting the information out the kids so they could make informed choices.

No, the problem lay with whoever had directed the PSAs. Whatever directions they'd given had resulted in Captain America acting like a much older sibling or parent or uncle desperately trying to be cool and relate to the kids. Sitting backwards on chairs in school hallways obviously added in on a green screen, giving Steve no time to adjust to slang he'd clearly never spoken before, speaking as if he actually knew the teachers who would be showing the videos to their classes… The overall effect was cheesy and overly sanitized, just like every other federally ordered educational video since the first.

It was a shame, really.

Quinn tried to keep her laughter to a minimum through the first couple videos (detention and the importance of exercise), but gave up by the third one (puberty), and was nearly crying by the last (Captain America's Fitness Challenge). Steve was even driven to laughter, though whether it was because of the videos or because of Quinn's reaction, she couldn't tell.

"Maybe we should use the Fitness Challenge at SHIELD," Quinn quipped as the videos finished. She shifted so she could look up at Steve. He was closer to her than she expected.

"SHIELD's current regimen isn't patriotic enough?"

Quinn snorted. "Not even close." She gestured at the screen. "But, I will not blame you at all if you don't want those getting out," she said as the laughter faded. "But I am  _totally_ keeping them."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "Of course you are. You're never going to let me forget about them, are you?"

Instead of answering, Quinn just grinned.

"You might as well send them on. Like I said, if they can help at all, then it's worth it."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Gee, Captain Rogers, you're such a swell guy."

Steve tried to keep from laughing, but failed. He leaned back from Quinn so he could gently elbow her in the arm, jostling her a bit. "Old habits die hard?"

"Sure. Let's go with that." Quinn grinned at Steve, who returned the smile. "And then we can move on to more important things. Like dinner. And what movie we want to watch tonight."

"You pick the movie. I'll go pick up some shawarma," Steve said, patting her knee as he got to his feet.

"Got a taste for it, did you?"

Quinn had been unconscious on the helicarrier when the Avengers had gone for lunch after stopping Loki, but she'd heard about it from Steve, Tony, and several news outlets, who'd interviewed the Middle Eastern couple who owned the shawarma joint a bunch of costumed heroes had dined in after the Battle of New York. A nice fluff story to make the heroes more relatable. To help things feel lighter after the revelation that aliens existed.

Steve gave her a small smile. "I did. What would you like?"

"Chicken."

"Extra for leftovers?"

"Please."

"Coke?"

"You know it."

As Steve left and Quinn set about choosing their movie for the night, her mind was stuck on how well Steve knew her, and that it had only been five months. It felt like she'd known him forever, that he'd always been there, in the apartment next door. On the couch beside her.

What would she do when he left?

* * *

_August 31st, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

For the first time all summer, Quinn was looking forward to a Friday for a reason that was only tangentially related to spending time with Steve: Trip was going to be in New York.

Antoine Triplett was the grandson of Gabe Jones, one of the Howling Commandos who had worked with Captain America during World War II. He was also Quinn's ex-boyfriend, who she'd dated until about a year and half ago, when they'd decided they worked better as friends. She hadn't seen him since he'd visited her in the SHIELD hospital in Roswell, as his work as a SHIELD specialist kept him busy all over the world. But they'd kept in touch, and she'd been elated when he told her he had a weekend off, and that he'd be spending Friday in the big city. They had made plans to have lunch so Trip and Quinn could catch up, but also so Trip could meet Steve.

Quinn had taken the day off so she could make sure her apartment was in presentable order and that she actually had food and drink to offer. Not that Trip would expect it—he knew Quinn and he wasn't staying very long—but the tasks would also serve to keep her mind occupied. She would never admit it, because she didn't really understand  _why,_ but the idea of seeing Trip again after so long made her nervous; keeping in touch with an ex, even a friendly one, over email and phone calls was an entirely different thing than seeing them in person. Briefly, Quinn wondered if she was nervous about seeing Trip again in front of Steve, but she hadn't spared too much time for that line of thought.

She was just returning from the nearby grocery store when she ran into Steve, who was, judging from his clothes, heavy bag, and slightly sweaty hair, coming back from the gym. He raised an eyebrow at her purchases, and she rolled her eyes, a smirk pulling at one corner of her mouth.

"I didn't buy enough for it to go bad."

"I hope not." Steve made a face and Quinn knew he was remembering the jar of spaghetti sauce she'd pulled out of the back of her fridge a few weeks ago—the one growing what Quinn had dubbed a mould monster. "What time is Agent Triplett supposed to arrive?"

"He said around eleven, which, since this isn't a mission, means probably closer to noon."

Steve chuckled and nodded before heading into his apartment to presumably shower and change. Quinn headed inside her own apartment to do the same and put the groceries away. It was 11:20 am by the time Quinn settled herself at the island to wait, dressed in skinny jeans and a loose blue tank top, her brace secured over her bad leg and her dark brown hair in tis customary braid. Steve joined her a few minutes later, in jeans and a black t-shirt, and stood next to her, hands in his pockets.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked when he noticed Quinn's right leg bouncing.

"A bit nervous. I haven't seen Trip since I was in the hospital." Almost of its own accord, her right hand went to her left bicep where silver-white scars could barely be seen. She traced them down to her forearm; they were the only marks left from where the piece of rubble that had broken her arm had landed. "The last time he saw me I looked… not like me." She looked up at him. "I don't really know why I'm nervous, but I keep thinking about the look on his face when he saw me."

Steve said nothing—which Quinn appreciated, since she wasn't a fan of platitudes—but he did squeeze her shoulder and give her one of his small smiles she liked so much. Quinn indulged herself in leaning into his touch. His hand slid along her back to her opposite shoulder and the gesture became a sort of one-armed hug.

There was a knock at the door, and Quinn got to her feet with a smile of thanks at Steve.

A smile that grew into something else when she opened the door to find Trip standing there, beaming, his dark eyes gleaming with his usual joy. Their gazes locked and then Trip stepped into the apartment, sweeping Quinn into a hug that lifted her clear off the ground as he went.

"Hey, girl," he said, kissing her cheek gently.

Quinn was relieved her nervousness had vanished. She returned the embrace, pressing her face into Trip's shoulder as he spun one hundred and eighty degrees and set her back down; she thought she caught an odd look on Steve's face, but then Trip's torso was blocking her view and she could only see him. "Hey, Trip," she said, smiling up at him.

"You look much better than the last time I saw you."

Quinn felt some of the light go out of her face, but she ushered it back as fast as she could. "Understatement." She pushed past Trip to avoid further discussion on the topic and walked back to where Steve stood. "Trip, allow me to introduce Captain Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Agent Antoine Triplett."

"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers," Trip said, shaking Steve's proffered hand. "A pleasure I never dreamed I would have. My grandfather spoke very highly of you. He had a lot of great stories."

Quinn didn't miss the slight darkening of Steve's cheeks, but she didn't think it would be obvious to Trip. "I imagine they were slightly embellished. Your grandfather had a gift—"

"For talking too much?" Trip suggested with a grin. "I agree."

"He was quite the storyteller. It's too bad I wasn't able to see him again." Steve got the faraway look in his eyes he did sometimes when his past came up. Quinn reached forward without thinking and put her hand on Steve's arm. He looked down at her and said, "Should we head out?"

It seemed they were both avoiding certain topics today.

"Yes," Quinn said, pulling her hand back.

"Where are we going?" Trip asked as the three of them left Quinn's apartment and headed down to the sun-baked street. Though Trip had no doubt noticed the abrupt turn away from the conversation, he said nothing. Just kept up with his usual cheery demeanour. That was something Quinn had always liked about Trip.

Quinn, who was walking ahead of the guys, looked over her shoulder at Trip and raised her eyebrows. "Where do you think? There's only one place you like to eat around here."

Trip pumped his arm in celebration. "Yes! I've been craving some good Mexican food for weeks!" he said over Quinn's laugh.

Lunch went swimmingly—not that Quinn had expected anything less. Trip had always been excellent at making people feel comfortable, so the initial awkwardness was bypassed quickly. Sharing stories became the theme of the lunch and even the stories Quinn had heard before were enjoyable. Steve didn't talk much about his own past, but he did tell a few stories about Gabe Jones and the other Howling Commandos, and Trip relayed some of the tales he'd heard about Captain America in his childhood. They were indeed embellished, and Steve was happy to refocus them on the truth, which Trip found endlessly amusing.

When Steve left the table to go to the washroom while they were waiting for the bill, Trip leaned over to Quinn, a knowing smirk on his face. "You're in trouble."

Immediately, her cheeks flushed. "What?"

"You think I don't see how you look at him when you think no one sees you, girl? I know you."

Panic flared to life in Quinn's gut and her flush deepened. Natasha, Clint, and Maria picking up on her feelings was one thing—she saw them all the time—but she hadn't expected Trip to see the truth so easily. "I don't know what you're talking about, Trip. Steve and I are close, sure, but we're just friends."

Trip sat back in his chair, still smirking that infuriating smirk. "You two are something, but it's not friends."

"Trip—"

"Just be careful, Quinn."

"I don't know—"

"Quinn," he said carefully, "like I said, I know you. You don't do anything half-assed." Trip looked over Quinn's shoulder, and she knew he watching Steve return to the table. "I also know how crazy you've always been about the captain, so just—"

"I will be," Quinn replied quickly, cutting him off. Her face felt like it was on fire. No way Steve wouldn't notice.

Sure enough, he raised an eyebrow as he sat back down but, in his typical fashion, he said nothing. Probably just filed it away to maybe ask about it later. Quinn suddenly just wanted to go home. Maybe hide under a blanket.

After they'd paid, Quinn, Steve, and Trip took the long way back to the apartment building, chatting about whatever topic Quinn could think of to keep her mind busy. She didn't want to dwell on what Trip had implied, on what she knew was true but wasn't ready to admit to anyone; she could only hope her feelings weren't obvious to Steve, or to anyone who didn't know as well as her friends did.

When it was time for Trip to take off and catch the train home, he gave Quinn another tight hug. "Let's not wait a year before we do lunch again."

"Get your ass back to New York more often, and we'll talk. Be careful out there, Trip."

"You know I'm always careful, girl." He winked and then turned to Steve, his hand extended. When Steve took it, Trip pulled him in to clap him on the back. He also leaned in and said something, though Quinn couldn't tell what it was. She could only see his lips moving. And then Steve nodded. "See you around."

Quinn and Steve stood outside their apartment building for a moment, watching Trip vanish into the crowd, headed in the direction of SHIELD headquarters. As they were headed upstairs in the elevator a few moments later, Quinn shoved her apprehension down and asked, "What did Trip say to you before he left?"

Steve cleared his throat. He didn't bother denying that Trip had told him anything, but it was still a few heartbeats before he said, "He, uh… He told me to take care of you."

If Quinn had been red before, now her face was absolutely crimson. She hid behind her hands as the elevator headed up to their floor and wished, resolutely, that she didn't blush as much as she did. It made it impossible to hide her emotions.

Beside her, Steve gave a soft laugh and bumped his arm against her shoulder. "You don't need anyone to take care of you, Quinn, but… I kind of agreed."

She looked up at him and made herself smile. She mostly hoped her feelings weren't transparent to Steve, but there was a part of her, just a small one, that wanted to tell him. Wanted to find out how he'd respond.

But for now, the bigger part won out.

* * *

_September 7th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Steve's apartment_

Steve was deep into his rereading of the old SSR files when his stomach grumbled and he realized it had been hours since he'd eaten—hours since he'd started reading. He shook his head and stood up, returning the file to the stack on the coffee table, and then headed into the kitchen. Getting lost in the past, in the life he would have had if he'd never been frozen, was not a new occurrence. Indeed, it seemed like every time he picked up one of the old files, he was thrust back into the 1940s to relive his memories and to wander through the what ifs.

What if he had never gotten the super soldier serum? What if he'd been able to go to the front lines immediately and never had to sell bonds? What if he'd gotten to Europe before Bucky had gone on the mission that had led to his death? What if he'd been able to save Bucky? What if he'd kissed Peggy earlier?

What if he'd been able to make his date with Peggy?

It hadn't only happened with the old files, he realized as he set about making himself a sandwich.

After Agent Triplett's visit—and odd parting message—the week before, Steve had gone back through Quinn's files, reading about her accident, her surgeries, her recovery. The missions she'd been a part of before Puente Antiguo, the work she'd done after returning to SHIELD. The picture of her from her admittance to the SHIELD facility at Roswell was harder to look at now that he knew her better and had some idea of what that building had robbed her of. He didn't pretend to know what she'd felt in those first days—beyond what she'd told him—but he knew what it was like to be in and out of hospitals, to be constantly sick, and afraid of what the next day would bring.

Steve had imagined what he would have said had he been one of those who had visited her in the hospital, imagined what he would have done.

How it would have felt to see her lying there, bruised and broken.

It was a line of thought he'd cut off abruptly, though he still wasn't sure why he'd had such a strong reaction to it, other than he considered Quinn his closest friend in 2012.

Steve was enormously glad Quinn had recovered to the point she had. He'd grown accustomed to her, liked having her around, and any tiny shift in the events leading up to her placement as his handler would mean he would have been dealing with some other SHIELD agent, and he couldn't imagine anyone else being as… integral to his adjustment to his new life. He couldn't imagine anyone else living across the hall. Helping him with his list.

He was just finishing his sandwich when he heard Quinn in the hall. By the way the floorboards creaked, he knew she was standing outside his door rather than hers. She didn't knock right away.

Something was up.

Steve crossed the apartment and opened the door when she finally did knock. He stepped aside to let her enter and closed the door behind her before turning to face her. He knew right away she was upset about something. Quinn's eyes were wider than normal, her tawny irises surrounded by white, and her elbow-length hair was loose and a bit wild, the front of it pushed back by her repeatedly shoving it back from her face. She was fiddling with the ring on her left thumb.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Uh, well, nothing. Not really. I don't think."

Steve took a couple steps towards her, thought about reaching out to touch her but didn't. He was always a little hesitant; it always felt like any touch between them meant something. "Quinn."

Her gaze focused on him hard at the sound of her name. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed it. "Everything is sorted out for the new Strike Team Delta," she said after a moment. She ran her fingers back through her hair and tucked some of it behind one ear. "Once everyone assigned is finished with their current missions and Director Fury is set up at the Triskelion and can distribute all necessary credentials and equipment, you will officially have a place at SHIELD to work when the Avengers don't need you."

Steve felt a burst of relief in his chest—finally, something meaningful to do on the scale he was used to, the scale he had been made for. He smiled at Quinn—beamed, in fact—and she did smile back, but her eyes stayed dark; she was still fidgeting with her ring. The relief dimmed a bit. "What haven't you told me yet?" Steve asked, his voice quiet.

It was a moment before she spoke. When she did, her voice was thick. "The team is going to be based in DC."

Disappointment and sadness overwhelmed the relief. "I… I'll have to move to DC?"

Quinn nodded and turned away from him, attempting to hide the tears Steve caught anyway, wrapping her arms around herself as she paced away. She stopped in front of the window. "Yeah. Everything will be handled by Fury and run out of the Triskelion." She turned back around. The tears were gone. "Strike Team Delta is no longer mine—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed and continued. "I have to stay in New York, since the Avengers are located out of the Tower, and the Tower is here."

Steve wasn't sure what Quinn was more upset about: losing the strike team or having to stay in New York. He wasn't sure what he was more upset about either. Even though he was glad to finally have something to do, the idea that Quinn wouldn't be nearby, that he wouldn't be reporting to her as part of the strike team…

Steve closed the distance between him and Quinn, standing close enough that she had to lift her head to look up at him, her eyes shining through her lashes. For several heartbeats, they just started at each other, tears filling the corners of Quinn's eyes even though she fought them back and something tightening in Steve's chest. Again he felt the urge to reach out to her, but didn't act on it.

"I can't imagine not having you across the hall," Steve said instead, voice low. He hadn't really planned to say anything, but it was the truth.

"Neither can I." Quinn chewed on her bottom lip again. She took a half step closer, her mouth opening a bit. For a second, Steve thought she was going to say something else, that she might ask him to stay, but she just pressed her lips together into a tight line and looked up at him, silently pleading.

Steve sighed and gave in to the urge to hug her.

Quinn wrapped her arms around his chest as his went around her shoulders. She pressed her cheek to his t-shirt and Steve hugged her tighter, tucking her head into the curve of his neck; she fit there almost too well. Quinn balled her hands around his t-shirt like she was clinging to him, like she didn't want to let him go. All Steve could think about for a moment was when she'd fallen asleep against him, about the way her skin had felt beneath his fingertips when he'd tucked her hair behind her ear.

He'd never had a connection with someone that allowed for casual touching. He'd never held anyone like he held Quinn then.

He didn't want to not be able to see her every day.

"I could—"

Quinn cut him off immediately. "No. This is what you've been waiting for." Quinn pulled back, her fingers lingering on his sides. He wanted to pull her back. "I'll come visit if you want, and you can come back here…" She shook her head, her cheeks darkening a bit—she'd spoken without thinking, just as he had earlier. "Nat will be in DC with you, and SHIELD will find you a nice place. I'm sure Fury will keep you guys busy—"

"Quinn."

She stopped. Met his gaze.

"Do you know when I'll have to move?"

"January at the latest."

"Good."

Quinn gave him a small smile, a real one that reached her eyes. Steve hugged her again, Quinn fitting herself against him again easily. He touched his lips to the top of her head, then replaced them with his cheek. Her hair smelled of citrus.

* * *

_September 14th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—American Museum of Natural History_

"I still can't believe a hat and sunglasses is all that's needed for people to not recognize me."

Quinn laughed as another group of people walked by, one of them giving Steve a second look, confusion plain as she tried to figure out if she knew him. She and Steve were sitting on a shaded bench outside the Museum of Natural History, drinking coffee after wandering the exhibits for a while. It had so far been a peaceful evening, and Quinn didn't want it to end; she'd been feeling that way a lot lately.

"People see what they want to see. What they expect to see," she said. "And I doubt anyone expects to see Captain America sitting outside a museum drinking coffee," she added with a smirk. "They want their heroes to always be doing… hero things. Do you wear the same disguise when you wander the city by yourself?"

Steve nodded. "Someone recognized me the first time I went out for a walk alone. They wouldn't stop asking me questions. I wouldn't mind so much, but…"

"I don't imagine people were really like that in the 40s."

"Not really, no. Mostly people just wanted their pictures taken or for me to sign something. The only questions I really go were about when the tour would be coming back to their city. Nothing personal. They didn't really care what my everyday life was like, what sort of workout I do, or want to know what I was doing next."

"Or what your favourite colour is?"

Steve smirked. "Blue."

"Really? I would have thought you'd grown tired of it. Do they also want to know what your favourite food is?"

"I don't know that I have one."

"Or why you're not everywhere in New York City, cleaning up all the crime, twenty-four/seven?"

"I sense a note of bitterness there, Agent Scott. I'm guessing that's something a lot of reporters are asking you?"

"Yup." Quinn took a sip from her now-cold coffee and grimaced. "Someone is going to want to make new trading cards of all the Avengers soon."

"Tony mentioned something about action figures already."

Quinn snorted. "I hate to say it, but that makes sense." Quinn took a long drink, finishing her coffee. "At least in that regard, nothing much has changed. People want reminders. Things to collect." She paused as another group of people walked by, giving Steve strange looks. Steve huffed and Quinn said, "Give it a few more months, and Tony will be the only Avenger most recognize out of uniform."

"I somehow doubt that."

She snorted. "You're probably right. Of course, no one expects Captain America to be accompanied by a woman, so I'm probably an even better disguise than your glasses," she said with a grin. Steve chuckled as Quinn stood up and tossed her coffee cup in a nearby garbage can. "Let's head back. I'm starving."

Steve joined her, and they started walking at a rather sedate pace. Quinn's leg had been bothering her since the makeshift physical therapy session on Monday, and she'd been moving slower than normal all week. If it bothered Steve, he'd said nothing. But then, they both seemed to be lingering in each other's company anyway, neither in as much of a hurry for the year to end as they might have once been. Something had shifted between them since last Friday, but Quinn was afraid to say anything about it, or acknowledge it out loud in any way.

They took the long way back to where Quinn had parked, walking mostly in silence, the usual small talk not needed between them. Quinn still marvelled at that. Steve kept close by in case she stumbled. When they were almost to the car, Quinn's leg started to feel weak and shake. She thought she hid it well, but Steve offered his arm to her, so some sign must have shown. She took it gratefully, tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow, and didn't shy away from letting him take her weight.

They grabbed a pizza on the way back to the apartment and took up their regular positions on the couch to eat and watch another movie from Steve's list; they settled on  _The Matrix._

"Getting through this list isn't going to be the same after I move," Steve said after a while.

Quinn put her plate on the coffee table on top of Steve's and shifted closer to him. "It's not like we have to stop talking. You could still ask me what you should watch. And we could watch whatever you pick at the same time and talk on the phone or text or something."

"I suppose we can figure something out."

"Yeah. Let's worry about that when we have to."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then Steve settled back into the corner of the couch and Quinn tucked herself against his side, keeping her bad leg stretched out along the couch. He draped an arm around her, his hand rest on her side. Quinn's cheeks flushed, and a thrill went through her, but she ignored it and just let herself be comfortable.

Quinn was still conflicted about her feelings for Steve, but with him moving to a different city, it didn't seem so pressing to fight them off, to pretend they weren't there. Her and Steve weren't just friends, no matter what she insisted to everyone. They were something else, something different, but again, it wasn't important to define it. Or, at least, not as important as she'd thought it was before. She just wanted to enjoy his company, to have more of what they'd shared all summer.

She wasn't a fool. She knew Strike Team Delta would likely keep Steve too busy for them to even speak much, and that being in a different city, a different state, would do no them no favours. No, if she was a fool, it was because she knew she was going to get hurt and she'd decided to stop trying to do anything about it.

With a sigh, Quinn settled heavier against Steve.

His arm tightened a fraction. "Quinn?"

"Sorry. Just… thinking. I should really stop doing that."

Steve laughed quietly enough that Quinn felt it more than she heard it. "We can pause the movie if there's something on your mind you want to talk about."

"No, no," Quinn said, relaxing against Steve. He was warm and comfortable. "Right now, I just want to stay right here and watch the movie."

Steve's fingers flexed against her side. "Okay."

* * *

_September 21st, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"Who said it could get so fucking cold? It's September!"

"I thought you said eating would help."

"I thought it would! I hadn't eaten since this morning, and waiting that long usually makes me cold, but I ate all of my cheeseburger and fries and most of your fries and I am still cold."

"Then stop marching around and come here so we can watch the movie."

Quinn stopped her pacing and looked to where Steve was sitting in what Quinn had come to think of as his corner of the couch. She huffed, the butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach; no matter how much she pretended to be at peace with her decision to stop fighting her feelings for Steve, she couldn't help the slight awkwardness on her part. After a few heartbeats of hesitation, she joined Steve on the couch and huddled against him, sinking into his warmth.

It was easy to find the spot where she fit so well.

Steve pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and let it fall on Quinn. She adjusted it until she was covered. "I hate cold snaps like this. I haven't had any time to adjust to the cold weather yet. And I like the fall. I don't want winter yet." Even to her, it sounded whiny.

"Stop whining."

Quinn snorted and pressed her face against Steve's chest. "Just press play."

He did, and  _Pulp Fiction_  started back up; Steve had paused it when Quinn had first got up and started pacing around the apartment to try and warm herself up. Steve was warm, but Quinn still couldn't shake the last edge of the cold. It felt like it was inside her. "I think I'm getting sick," she moaned.

"Are you always this whiny when you're sick?"

"Hey," she said, poking Steve in the side. "And yes, I am."

"Maybe I'm busy next week."

Quinn poked him again, and then shifted so she could pull the blanket up to her chin and only her head was visible. When she was settled, Steve draped his arm around her once again, and it felt comfortable. Right. Quinn knew the feeling was just in her head, but she let herself enjoy it. It didn't take long for the chill inside to mellow into the heavy pull of sleep—she was definitely getting sick. She didn't fight it when her eyelids started to flutter shut.

"Quinn."

Steve's voice pulled her from sleep and, from the sound of it, it wasn't the first time he'd called her name. She pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes. "What is it?"

"Someone called you," he said, handing her the phone.

She thumbed through the screens until she was looking at her call history. "Shit. It was Director Fury." Quinn extricated herself from the blanket and headed for her bedroom where she'd left her brace, calling her boss back as she moved; if Fury was calling her this late on a Friday night, it was more than a little likely she'd be heading into the office.

" _Scott. The Word Security Council has called a meeting about these Mandarin bombings. They've requested you attend."_

"Shit," she said before she could stop herself. "Uh, sorry, sir."

" _No need to apologize. I feel the same way."_

Quinn sighed. The Mandarin bombings had been on her radar since shortly after the Battle of New York—one of several things she'd kept an eye on—but they were being handled by various militaries and the UN. They hadn't escalated to the point the Avengers needed to be called in, not in her opinion, and not in anyone else's either. Terrorist bombings were, unfortunately, nothing new to this world, and could be handled without superhero assistance.

Though maybe that opinion was changing, if she and Fury had to meet with the World Security Council. She'd never stood in front of the Council before.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes, sir," Quinn said.

" _You have fifteen."_

The line went dead and Quinn rolled her eyes as she tossed her phone on the bed beside her and set about affixing her brace over her leggings. She threw on a long tunic-style blouse, belted it at her waist, and brushed and braided her hair so she looked at least mostly presentable. It was late on a Friday night though, so the Council could kiss her ass if they didn't like the way she'd dressed. She grabbed a jacket and stuffed her wallet, badge, phone, and keys into the pockets as she headed back to the living room.

"I've gotta head back to the office. Important emergency meeting," she said, looking longingly as the space she'd vacated beside Steve. She wanted to go back to sleep, curled up there. "Feel free to finish the movie. I don't know when I'll be back."

Steve got to his feet and walked with her to the front door. "You look nervous."

"I am." Quinn opened the door. "See you tomorrow?"

Steve nodded. "Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was difficult to write and I'm not sure I like it, but oh well. We're getting to the good stuff now. The drama.


	5. Chapter 5

_September 28th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

Quinn's bemoaned assumption turned out to be true: over the course of the next week, she fell victim to a bad flu. By Monday, she was achy and tired and couldn't breathe through her nose, but pushed through work until Wednesday, when she surrendered to the fact that she wasn't of any use to anyone while she was barely able to focus. Agent Barton once again took over for her temporarily, which, after the meeting she'd had with Fury the week before, Quinn didn't seem to mind. By Friday, Quinn was starting to feel marginally more human, but was still spending most of her time stretched out on the couch, sleeping or staring bleary-eyed on the TV, surrounded by used tissues, bottles of water and Gatorade, and whatever remained of her half-eaten last meal.

And she was as whiny about being sick as she'd joked she would be.

But, as it turned out, Steve didn't mind.

He'd never taken care of anyone before, but since he couldn't get sick and he lived next door—not to mention Agent Barton was busy and Agent Romanoff was somewhere across the world, finishing up one of her last missions before Strike Team Delta was shifted to DC—he was well-suited to checking up on Quinn. Before becoming Captain America, Steve was always the one who was sick, who was being watched over and taken care of, and after his transformation, his life was selling bonds and then war.

He liked feeling needed on a smaller, personal scale; he'd thought the same after the Battle of New York, when Quinn had been grieving Agent Coulson's death.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked as he entered Quinn's living room. He'd gone to a nearby comfort food restaurant for homemade tomato soup and grilled cheese at Quinn's request.

She was sitting upright but was slumped against the back of the couch, her head tilted back as she breathed through her mouth; she was half covered by a blanket, the cartoon bats on her baggy t-shirt visible, and though her hair was in a braid, it was a mess. "Only at the edge of death now," she said, her words slightly garbled by her stuffy nose.

"An improvement then." Steve handed her the bag with her food and the spoon he'd grabbed from her cutlery drawer, and then he sat down in his usual spot to start eating his own food. "You look better—more colour in your face."

"Don't flatter me, Steve," she said, enunciating his name hard to try and avoid the "b" sound that her cold tended to add. "I still look like shit." But she was smiling.

"Maybe a little bit," Steve agreed with a matching grin.

Quinn had picked the movie for that night, and it was one that wasn't on the list; her prerogative since she was sick. It was one of her favourites— _Underworld_ —and once they were both settled and enjoying their dinner, she hit play. It was immediately obvious to Steve why Quinn loved the movie as much as did—she had a fondness for fun action movies, especially with fantastical elements—but Steve was a little surprised to find himself enjoying the movie as much as she was.

"You're done?" Steve asked a few minutes later, as Quinn set half her sandwich and soup aside. "Maybe you're not as improved as you thought." His tone was joking, but part of Steve was concerned. In all the time that he'd known Quinn, the only time he hadn't seen her finish a meal was when something was wrong.

Quinn gave him a small smile. "Maybe not. I'll eat the rest tomorrow. Probably." She sniffed and then yawned. "I'm too tired to eat."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he said with a smile.

Quinn returned the grin sleepily. "Shut up."

Without prompting, Steve moved his empty food containers to the end table, clearing the way for Quinn, who shuffled down the couch until she could curl up against Steve, her blanket wrapped tight around her. His arm settled around her shoulders, and she sighed, content. He felt her ribs expand with the breath, heard the slight wheeze as she exhaled. As he looked down at her, he noted her face had gone pale again, the bloom of colour he'd seen earlier gone.

He also noticed she was already falling asleep.

Once again, instead of moving her or suggesting she go to bed, Steve kept holding her to his side; he could admit to himself that he liked having her there. After a moment, Quinn grabbed one of the throw pillows from the couch and tucked it under her head as she slid down to put her head in Steve's lap, her face towards him; her eyes were closed and she moved in an uncertain way, as if her body was acting on muscle memory or she was closer to unconsciousness than he'd thought. He doubted she was aware of exactly what she was doing. Steve felt his cheeks heat as he blushed, but still, he didn't move her.

The movie still playing in the background, Steve looked down at Quinn, watching her breathing even out as she fell farther towards sleep. Without bothering to examine the impulse, Steve reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. As she had before, Quinn turned towards the warmth of his hand, but unlike before, Steve repeated the motion, stroking her hair, his fingers grazing her forehead, her ear, her throat.

Quinn's breath deepened and the last of the tension went out of her body. Her exhales whistled faintly through her stuffed nose, and Steve smiled, laughing silently to himself. He took the opportunity to study her features closer than he would have felt comfortable doing while she was awake. She had faint freckles across her nose and cheeks, one on her right eyelid, and one on the edge of her upper lip, all more visible now than usual, and a few small scars similarly highlighted by her illness: one on her chin, cutting into her bottom lip; one on her neck beneath her left ear that disappeared into her hair; and one in her right eyebrow, creating a small interrupt in her eyebrow. He'd drawn Quinn many times since April, but the smaller details had eluded him.

A while later, after the movie had ended, Steve picked Quinn up as gently as possible and carried her to her bedroom. She hadn't made her bed—another sign she might be sicker than she was letting on—so Steve laid her down and reached for the comforter to tuck her in.

"Steve?"

He paused and met Quinn's sleepy gaze; he hadn't noticed her stirring. She was still half-asleep, her tawny eyes dark, lids heavy, but she gave him a bare smile. "Yeah?"

She rolled onto her side and shifted over on the bed, pulling the comforter over her legs—a silent question Steve knew the answer to. As he had when Quinn was having nightmares after Agent Coulson's death, Steve stretched out beside her, on top of the blankets, and kept eye contact. Quinn didn't like to be alone when she sad, nor when she was sick apparently.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep," Quinn said quietly.

"You're sick. You should sleep."

Quinn smiled again, turning her face into the pillow. She exhaled, her eyelids fluttering closed. "We don't have many Fridays left," she mumbled. "I know it's what you wanted, but—" she paused and reached out, her fingers brushing Steve's cheek "—I'm gonna miss you."

His cheeks reddened slightly, but Steve didn't look away. He took her hand when she pulled it back and gave it a squeeze. "I can stay."

He watched confusion cross her face, watched her to come to some sort of conclusion, and then she said, "You don't have to. I'm just going to sleep."

"I'll stay until you fall asleep then."

Quinn tucked her arms in close to her body and Steve pulled the comforter up until it was up around her neck. She smiled at him, her eyes closing again. "Things are going so fast," she sighed.

Steve guessed Quinn wasn't one hundred percent sure what she was saying, or at least didn't think she was speaking out loud. For a second, Steve debated whether or not he should respond, but eventually he asked, "What is?" He kept his voice low.

Her eyes opened, but didn't stay that way for long. For a heartbeat, Steve thought she'd fallen asleep, but then she made a small humming noise. "Everything is."

He didn't know what she was talking about. "Is that bad?"

"Maybe."

"Can I help?"

Quinn snorted softly. "That's a complicated answer, Cap."

The tension of wakefulness started to leave her body again. "Okay, Quinn."

She mumbled something, but it was unintelligible as she finally fell back asleep. When he was sure he could move without waking her, Steve got to his feet and adjusted the blanket behind him. Quinn settled deeper into her covers with another small sigh. Steve's chest tightened as he watched her, as he heard her say  _I'm gonna miss you_ again in his head.

He would miss her too. Perhaps more than he'd realized.

Before he left, Steve bent down, brushed some hair back from Quinn's face, and placed a gentle kiss on her temple. "Good night, Quinn."

* * *

_October 5th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"I'm just saying it's surprising. They're not exactly culturally significant movies. They're not even big-grossing popcorn flicks that someone might reference in conversation."

Steve shrugged. "What can I say? I liked the first one so much, I want to see the rest."

Quinn, back to normal except for a stubbornly still-running nose, laughed and added the rest of the Underworld series to Steve's list. The list took up almost half the little notebook now, and many items were already crossed out; Quinn wondered if the list would ever be finished, or if Steve would continue updating it and crossing things off for the rest of his life.

"All right, then we can watch  _Underworld Evolution_  tonight." She got off the couch and went to her movie shelf to grab the DVD and pop it in the player. "I never thought you would have liked the series, or I may have added it before since they're some of my favourite movies."

"Me either, but the first one was fun to watch, even with you snoring."

She smiled at him as she dropped back onto the couch. "I don't snore."

"You snore a little bit. Although, when you were sick it sounded more like wheezing than anything."

Quinn snorted over a laugh. "Record it next time and then I'll believe you." Quinn shifted until she was comfortable. "So, am I allowed to ask what Fury and you were talking about earlier today?" She'd gone by the director's office that morning and found Steve and her boss pouring over a stack of papers on the desk. They hadn't noticed her and she hadn't intruded, just gone back to work.

She'd been waiting all day to ask.

"You can ask," Steve said with a bit of a laugh. Quinn shot him a look, and then Steve continued. "We were talking about the new Strike team."

"Oh?" Quinn propped her bad leg up on the coffee table—they'd done her physical therapy earlier, so she wasn't wearing her brace and she wanted to keep the leg stretched—and tucked her other leg underneath her. "Was Fury giving you the rundown on who you'll be working with?"

"Yes. He'd already sent me the files, but he wanted to go over Rumlow's and Rollins's files in more detail. They're an intense pair."

Quinn snorted.

"What?"

"I just realized that the three agents who will be directly below you in the team structure are Romanoff, Rumlow, and Rollins. And you're Rogers. So many Rs." Quinn smiled when Steve laughed and shook his head. "What else did you guys talk about?"

"A time for me to come and meet the team members, a couple small things Fury wants us to look into before the official relocation, the further reorganization of the Strike teams—apparently not all of them have been as effective as the higher-ups at SHIELD would like, so they're condensing us into one team who can break apart as needed—and a bit about the move." Steve's voice changed when he added the last point, but it was subtle; Quinn was sure she wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't spent so much of her time talking to him.

Quinn could have asked about the Strike team reorganization, but she knew she would be able to find the details at work on Monday, and she could have asked how Steve was feeling about everything, but all she could say was, "Oh."

She hated herself a bit for that.

Steve retrieved the folder he'd put on the table when he'd come in an hour or so ago with dinner. He'd said nothing about it then. "They'd found a place for me to live. The current resident is an agent who's being sent overseas for an undercover op, so once he's out and the place is cleaned… I can move in." He handed her the folder, and Quinn was aware of his eyes on her as she opened it and started flipping through the photos.

"Fury loves assembling things into files," she mused. It was a ridiculous set up for information about an apartment, but Quinn was used to it; it was a trait Coulson had adopted as well, and there had even been a few presents and cards she'd received in the form of mission files. "It looks nice," she said, handing the folder back to Steve. She chewed her bottom lip a moment, fighting down the surge of anxiety and sadness talk of the move always brought to the surface. "Will you have to move earlier?"

"I'm… not sure."

Quinn sighed and sunk deeper into the couch. She wanted to say so much in that moment, but she kept it all inside, too afraid something she didn't want to share would come out in the flood of emotions and thoughts. But… was it worth keeping how she felt inside? Steve was moving, and things were going to have to change between them anyway. Should she just tell him how crazy she was about him? Sure, they'd only known each other for seven months, but it didn't feel like that. It felt like they'd known each other forever.

But the voice inside that had kept her from divulging her feelings so far was right. It wasn't fair to Steve. He had had very little time on his own to figure out his new life, to figure out his place in the world. Quinn was literally the first person he'd had a chance to connect to since waking up. She was his handler. He should have an opportunity to figure out what he wanted. What he needed.

But what if he felt the same?

_Stop it, Quinn._ She'd had the same discussion with herself countless times. If Steve felt the same, he'd just have to tell her. She was done with the circuitous arguments, with guessing what Steve was thinking, feeling—with all of it.

"Quinn?"

By Steve's tone, it wasn't the first time he'd called her name.

"Sorry—lost in thought again. What did you say?"

"I just asked if you were okay."

She made herself smile, even though happiness was at the bottom of the emotions swirling inside. "Yeah, I am. Let's watch the movie." Before he could say anything else—she could see he was about to—she hit play and fixed her gaze on the screen.

* * *

_October 12th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

" _This is just garden variety terrorism, Scottie. I don't think it's anything for us to get involved in."_

"Garden variety terrorism. I hate that that's a phrase we need to use." Quinn sighed as she continued to pace around her apartment. The muscles on her scarred thigh were twitching, but she knew it was from stress.

Since the first Mandarin bombing earlier that year, SHIELD's interest had only grown, especially since they couldn't find any concrete info about the man. Every intelligence organization in the world was looking for him, trying to predict his next move—and everyone was failing. There had been no official order from the World Security Council, but Fury had told her to be ready if the Avengers needed to be called in; if they got involved, their friends and family would be in danger.

She'd called Tony to ask if he'd seen anything—he might deny keeping an eye on things to the public, but Quinn knew better—but talking to him was proving, as usual, exhausting. "Are you sure you haven't seen anything?"

" _Scottie, I would have told you if I did. I promise you that. You need to chill out, lady. Aren't you off the clock? Isn't movie night tonight?"_

Quinn rolled her eyes so hard, she wouldn't have been surprised to learn Tony could hear it. "Yes, I'm off the clock, and it's none of your business if movie night is tonight." She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. There was no better way to pique Tony's interest than to say it wasn't any of his business.

" _You and the captain have been hanging out every Friday all summer. It's not a huge leap to assume that tonight is also movie night. Unless—he's on some mission with the new team, isn't he?"_

"Stark—"

" _I know the answer anyway. I'm sure he'll get back in time if he can."_

"I—"

" _You know, I like you two together. He's certainly loosened up and you seem to be thriving. You compliment each other."_

"That's—"

" _Let me know if you're coming to the Halloween party, Scottie. Captain Rogers is making an appearance and it would be weird if you weren't at his side as always. Have a good night, and stop working, okay? Drink some whiskey, eat something fried. However you relax. Bye."_

Tony hung up without waiting for Quinn to respond, leaving her stunned, standing in her living room with her mouth open. She groaned and threw her phone into the couch. So much for getting help from Iron Man.

"Insufferable son of a bitch!"

"Talking to Tony?"

Quinn jumped at Steve's voice; she hadn't heard him come in and she hadn't been sure when to expect him, if at all. One hand pressed to her sternum, she turned to face Steve, who was standing in the archway between the living room and kitchen, leaning on the wall. His hair was damp—he must have showered after getting back from the mission—and he was dressed as he usually was for movie night, in jeans and a t-shirt, but there was something different about the way he was holding himself, something more assured. He looked more like he had in May, during the Battle of New York, and in July, when they'd stopped the sale of Chitauri tech—like he had a place and knew his purpose.

He looked good.

Quinn shook her head and made herself smile, not caring if it reached her eyes or not. "Yeah," she said on an exhale. "He's exhausting, especially when he thinks he knows something you want to keep secret."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks flushed, hot and quick. "Nevermind. He's just a pain sometimes."

Steve walked across the living room to stand in front of Quinn. Without thought and without more than the barest invitation from Steve, she stepped into a waiting hug, pressing her face into his chest. The tension that had mounted from thinking about the Mandarin situation and from talking to Stark lessened and Quinn closed her eyes.

And then she snapped them open and stepped back, her cheeks flaring read again. It was too easy to let herself fall into her feelings for Steve, despite that she'd decided she was done the week before. At least, she was done until she was sure there was something on Steve's side of things as well.

"How did the mission go?" she asked to cover her retreat. She settled in the armchair sitting perpendicular to the couch so she couldn't curl up against Steve.

Steve noticed her choice of seat; she could see him processing what it meant as he took a seat on the couch. "It went well. The team works well together."

Quinn pulled her good leg up to her chest, wrapped her arms around it, and put her chin on her knee. "That's good. Who went with you this time?"

"Just Rumlow and Rollins. It was an easy retrieval mission."

She nodded along, wanting to ask more details but knowing she couldn't. She was no longer part of Strike Team Delta, and she certainly wasn't part of the newly dubbed larger Strike Team. Once she'd finished planning the reorganization, every aspect of her involvement was finished. She realized in that moment how much she already missed it.

So she changed the topic.

"Stark said you're going to that Halloween party he's throwing?" she asked.

To his credit, Steve rolled with the shift in conversation, even though Quinn could tell he was confused. "It's a charity fundraiser to help with the continued rebuilding efforts and victim relief fund, so it would have felt wrong to pass. Are you going?"

"Well, when you put it like that, I guess I have to," Quinn said with a smile. "I hate looking for a costume though. Might just have to reuse one I shoved in the back of my closet."

"Will you help me find a costume? I have no idea what Halloween is like now."

"I doubt much has changed for normal peoples' Halloween celebrations, but something tells me that Stark's Halloween party will be… over the top. Especially since it's not a cocktail dress and suit jacket kind of event." Quinn shifted a bit, but couldn't quite get comfortable in the chair. "Depending on who all has been invited, it could be quite the party."

"Should I be worried?" Steve asked with a smirk.

Quinn returned it. "Maybe a little. But I've got your back. I won't let any of the press get too close, though I do plan to talk to Tony about who's invited. I'll need to prepare myself properly." She sighed a little overdramatically. "I miss just being able to have fun at parties."

"We'll find a way to have fun regardless of how terrible it is."

Quinn couldn't stop the flutter in her stomach, the heat in her cheeks, in response to the slightly cheeky smile Steve gave her. "I'll hold you to that."

* * *

_October 19th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

At first, lying on her back on the hardwood floor of her living room had not been comfortable, but after her bones settled, and her hip and lower back popped, Quinn found she was quite content to continue lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. It had been another long week of keeping an eye on Mandarin-related chatter and activity, trying to find a way to contact Thor—talking to the sky hadn't helped, even though, according to the Norse mythology she'd read, Heimdall should have been able to hear her—keeping an eye on all civilians connected to the Avengers, talking to Tony Stark, and handling the press.

Quinn was exhausted.

And, to make matters worse, things had been awkward with Steve since the week before. After their brief conversation, Quinn had begged off a late-night movie citing her weariness, and then Steve had been in and out of SHIELD HQ, meeting with Fury and prepping for the move. He'd left for another mission the night before and Quinn hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye.

With a groan, Quinn threw an arm over her face and closed her eyes. How could she have let everything get so complicated? So twisted together?

_This probably wouldn't have happened if Coulson had survived. He could have kept you in line._

That wasn't strictly true, of course. Coulson was one of the first to tease Quinn about her instant attraction to the captain, and about the time they'd spent together at The Retreat.

_You shouldn't have stayed with him then._

Things probably wouldn't be as complicated if she had left Steve alone at The Retreat, but Steve had asked her to stay. He hadn't wanted to be completely alone so soon out of the ice. She didn't know if her presence had helped at all, but it had certainly set the precedence for their friendship.

But Quinn wouldn't trade that time for anything, and she would stay at The Retreat with Steve if she was able to make that choice again.

She felt stupid for letting herself get into this position, and stupider still that she had to remind herself that keeping things no more than friendly would be the best course of action for both of them. At least, she hoped so.

A knock at her door startled Quinn out of her thoughts.

_Good. Stop me from getting too mopey about the whole damn situation._ "Come in!" she called, not caring who it was. She just didn't want to get up. She wasn't sure she _could_  get up easily.

"Why are you on the floor?"

Quinn stared up at Clint as he came to a stop standing over her. "It's comfortable," she deadpanned.

"Sure it is, Scottie. Need a hand?"

Appreciating that Clint hadn't made any comment about her not being able to get up, or being stuck, Quinn took his proffered hands and allowed him to help her to her feet. She paused a moment once upright to allow herself to adjust to her new orientation. "Thanks. What are you doing here?" she asked. "Coffee?"

"Love a cup." Clint followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the island. "Just wanted to come by and say hi. And to let you know Strike landed in DC at 1700 hours."

Quinn set the coffee to percolating before she turned and leaned back against the counter, her arms crossed and head cocked to one side. "Did Nat tell you to tell me?"

Clint shrugged in an ambiguous way that meant Natasha had indeed told Clint to tell Quinn when the team had returned. She would have done it under some pretense of course, but Clint would know what was up. And they both new Quinn would know. She rolled her eyes and turned back to preparing the coffee. Engaging with it would only pull her back in and she was distancing herself from her feelings. That was what she'd decided.

"Did the mission go well?" she asked instead, watching the coffee drip into the pot. She pulled down two mugs—her big blue one, and the one with purple and black swirls she'd come to think of as Clint's—and started prepping them.

Clint gave a small sigh. "Nat said it was a success, so I would assume so."

"Good. Seems like Fury is going to keep them busy." Quinn poured coffee into both mugs and handed Clint his; black while hers was pale with cream and sugar. "How's semi-retirement working out for you?"

Clint's brow furrowed. He wanted to be talking about something else, but he wasn't going to push; he knew Quinn better than that. "Laura is happy, as are the kids. I enjoy it when there are things to take care of, but the rest of the time…"

"You're bored."

"Desperately. It's a good thing I'm still working some of the time. I'm not ready to settle down completely just yet."

Quinn smiled at him over the rim of her mug. "I don't think you'll ever be really ready, Clint. Even if you stop working for SHIELD, you'll be tinkering around that farm until the day you keel over. You should try some new hobbies or something. Teach your kids archery when they're older—I can vouch that you're an excellent teacher when you want to be."

"Thanks, Scottie, but let's be real, you weren't exactly a great student."

"I hit you with a knife  _one time_."

"In the ass."

"It was an  _accident_ ," Quinn said, trying and failing to keep a straight face. Clint had never let her live that day down, and she didn't think he ever would. "I never missed that bad again, did I?"

"No, you didn't." Clint was smiling as he took another sip from his mug. "Quinn," he said, his voice dropping into a more serious register.

"Uh oh. Dad voice."

He pressed his lips together in a bit of a frown, though it might have been the result of trying to suppress another smile. "Are you okay?"

Quinn recoiled from the question, her head moving back a couple inches, and her back straightening. "What do you mean? Of course I'm okay."

Clint shifted his weight back and forth. He was uncomfortable. "I meant about the whole… Strike team thing."

"Clint—"

He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. I had to ask."

Quinn softened. "I know."

"You know you could, uh, talk to me about stuff. Like you used to talk to the boss. If you wanted." Clint shrugged with one shoulder and took another drink from his coffee, his eyes darting away—his version of blushing.

Quinn set her mug down on the island and walked around it so she could hug Clint. He put his mug down as well, turned on the stool, and returned the embrace. "You're the best big brother," Quinn said with a smirk as she stepped back. "But I promise you, I'm okay."

"Good." Clint drained the last of his coffee and then got to his feet. He started towards the door, Quinn following. "Have a good weekend, Scottie."

"You too. Say hi to Laura and the kids for me," she said, leaning on the door as she held it open.

"You could come out to visit, you know."

"I will. Night."

Clint waved without looking back as he walked down the hall to the elevator. It opened before he had a chance to press the button and he stepped back, allowing Steve to exit. They exchanged some words that were too quiet for Quinn to hear, and then Clint was gone and Steve was walking down the hall towards her, an oddly-shaped bag slung over one shoulder; a go bag that probably contained his suit and shield.

He met and held her gaze as he walked to his door. Quinn's chest tightened around an unexpected rush of emotion and she was fighting the desire to close the door and hide. Instead, she smiled, but stayed where she was. "Successful mission?" she asked.

"Mhm. Took longer than expected, though."

"All that matters is you got it done and everyone came home."

Steve nodded and then they fell into silence. Quinn hated the awkwardness still hovering between them. She wanted to do, say something that would erase it, but she didn't know how to do that while keeping the needed space between them.

Steve seemed to sense something of her inner turmoil and, thankfully, he didn't let her suffer much longer. He gave her a small smile. "Good night, Quinn."

"Good night, Steve."

* * *

_October 26th, 2012  
_ _New York, New York—Quinn's apartment_

"What about this one?" Quinn asked, stepping into the living room in the second costume she'd tried on from the box stuffed in the back of her closet.

Steve appraised the mad scientist getup with a pseudo-serious look on his face. "It fits you better than the witch costume did, but I don't think so."

Quinn rolled her eyes dramatically before stomping back into her bedroom to change, yelling, "I hate Stark for making costumes mandatory!" She shed the wig and big white coat and started sorting through the pieces for the next costume.

"Do you really think Tony would turn you away from the party if you showed up without a costume?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely. Just because he could. Or because he'd think it was funny." Quinn smiled at the sound of Steve's laughter drifting into her room, and started pulling on the puffy yellow dress of her Belle costume from… hell, from  _years_ ago. "Ugh, I hate this one."

She'd only made it two steps into the living room before Steve started laughing.  _"No."_

Quinn wanted to pretend indignation but she couldn't. She knew she looked terrible in yellow, and that the fluffy monstrosity of a dress was so far away from her comfort level that it would be a bad idea for an hours-long party. "Told you I hated it," she said as she marched back to her and shed the thing. "And, fine, I don't think Stark would make me leave the party if I showed up in a cocktail dress, but he'd either bother me about it all night, or he'd have some sort of costume for me to wear and it would definitely be something I hated."

"Worse than that dress?"

" _Way_ worse, I'm sure."

As Quinn changed into her next-to-last costume—a vampire—she let her thoughts linger on the evening. Steve had brought dinner, as usual, and they'd watched an episode of a TV show Quinn had paid very little attention to, and then they'd begun the ordeal of finding Quinn a costume for the party on Wednesday. There had been very little awkwardness, but there'd also been space between them that had never been there before. She didn't like it, but it was of her own making.

Dressed in her vampire costume, she padded barefoot into the living room. "This one I'm saying no to because I don't want to attempt walking in heels."

"You could wear other shoes."

"As a vampire? As if."

"That means you only have one costume left."

"Yeah, and it had better be a winner. I don't want to have to roll the dice with whatever Stark's got lying around." As she was changing into the last costume—a bat, and probably her favourite of all of them—Quinn yelled, "How did you settle on cowboy?"

"Stark suggested it."

"And you went with it?"

"Well, I didn't want to dress up as a soldier or go in my uniform, and cowboy was the easiest of the ones he suggested. I'm not sure if he was serious or not," Steve added as an afterthought.

Quinn snorted. "Well you certainly have enough plaid shirts to pull it off." She pulled on the hoodie that was the main part of her final costume and flipped the hood up before heading into the living room for her final inspection.

"That one looks like a winner. You actually look comfortable."

"That's because it's a hoodie and leggings." Quinn spread her arms to either side, showing off the scalloped wing membranes underneath. "I think I'll go with this one and be as casual as possible."

A smirk played across Steve's lips. "Tony might still try to make you put on a different costume."

Quinn looked him in the eye and said, with purpose, "Well then he can kiss my ass," while moving her head just enough for the bat ears to flop around.

Steve laughed and, for a moment, Quinn felt the space between them close. "Do you feel better now that you actually have a costume for the party?"

"I mean, we still have to get through the party, but sure," Quinn said as she returned to her room. She switched out the bat hoodie for the baggy t-shirt she wore to bed, and then went back to the living room and settled into her spot on the couch, bad leg propped on the footstool. "Hopefully you and Nat don't get pulled away at the last minute."

Steve nodded, turning a bit so he could more easily face Quinn. "I hope not. I'm looking forward to seeing what sort of chaos Tony's put together for this fundraiser."

"I'm sure it'll be plenty chaotic. He mentioned something about a haunted house for the kids."

They chatted for a bit longer about nothing in particular, and then Steve excused himself, saying he was tired. Quinn got to her feet and followed him to the door, where they stood, looking at each other from less than three feet away, for a few heartbeats, the space opening back up. Quinn was nearly overcome by the urge to reach across it and touch him, but she kept her hands to herself.

"See you on Wednesday?" she said instead.

Steve nodded, and the smile he gave her was a little sad. "Wednesday." He stood in the open doorway still, watching her carefully. "Quinn…"

Fruitless, stupid hope fluttered to life in her gut and reached her heart far too quickly and she had to remind herself that this was what she'd wanted. "Yeah?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Nevermind. Good night."

"Night."

Quinn closed the door behind him and then squeezed her eyes shut, feeling like she'd just shut the door on a definitive chapter in whatever it was that was between her and Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was a bit weird, but whatever. I still like it. I like doing little moments like this.
> 
> Up next—it's Halloween in June!


End file.
